


If Wishes Came True, It Would’ve Been You

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, Cock Worship, Consent Issues, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, First Time, Getting Back Together, H/D Erised 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hung Harry Potter, Hyperventilating, Large Cock, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Mention of Sex for Favors, Painful Sex, Panic Attacks, Pensieves (Harry Potter), Pining, Possible Injury During Sex, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Voyeurism, insults during sex, misogynistic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 40,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: At eighteen, Harry is determined to be the best Quidditch player in the world. He also can’t stop wanking to thoughts of Draco Malfoy’s perfect arse.The problem? Malfoy is his competition.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 31
Kudos: 280
Collections: H/D Erised 2020





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this! Happy Holidays! Also, a big thanks to my beta, L.

Part One

The Quidditch pitch yawned before Harry, the grass so green it sparkled in the sunlight. Sweat dotted his forehead, slipped between his shoulder blades. It was September first, and he should be on a train to Hogwarts for his eighth year, but instead he was somewhere in Cannock Forest, hidden from the Muggles, surrounded by dense bushes and scraggly trees.

Harry was determined to be a professional Quidditch player. He was ready to put in the work, to remake himself into an athlete, body and soul. 

It was the first day of Quidditch recruitment camp, and no one was surprised that he had been accepted into the prestigious camp. He was Harry Potter, for Merlin’s sake. Any British institution would be _thrilled_ to have him. He hated it. He wanted to succeed because of his merit, his skill, not because he had defeated Voldemort. He was finally in control of his life, and the choice to commit himself entirely to Quidditch was his and his alone. No prophecy had foretold his Quidditch destiny. 

Harry kicked off the ground and split the sky in two with his broom. The air felt like heaven, cooling his face, beating back the heat from the sun. He wore charmed goggles and gloves; up here, he had perfect vision. Up here, he could do anything. 

Everything fell away when he was on his broom. He was no longer only a couple of months out from the war; he no longer relived the final battle, over and over, blinking back images of so many loved ones lying dead on the floor of the Great Hall. 

Harry urged his broom to go faster by tightening his thighs and flattening his upper body. He felt like an arrow, like a curse, shredding the sky. There were now more recruits on the pitch and they stared in his direction. His heart sank. This was what his life would be like from now on: people stuttering and blushing around him; people watching him nervously, enviously. He knew that his life ahead would be a lonely one. 

An enormous tent ballooned at the edge of the pitch. Harry’s feet hit the ground just outside its entrance. He walked through its flapping mouth and landed in a foyer with sign posts telling him where to go. To the left were locker rooms, showers, and emergency services; to the right was an auditorium, a banquet hall, and meeting rooms. Harry headed for the banquet hall. 

The hall’s ceiling gaped above his head. The rafters were large and intricate, and Harry spied a few owls making a home along the beams. 

Long polished tables filled the hall. A few recruits dotted these tables, saying goodbye to their families. A feast of tea, little sandwiches, and afters had been prepared for them. There was media, and Harry scurried away before Rita Skeeter saw him. 

“Harry!” It was Charlie Weasley. 

“Merlin!” Harry shook his hand. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“It was a last minute decision,” Charlie said, a gold Instructor pin glittering on his chest.

“Are you really going to be one of the instructors?” Harry said. 

“Yep,” Charlie said nonchalantly but there was pride in his voice. 

“What about the dragons?”

Charlie’s face fell. “They will be okay without me for a little while. I had to get out of Romania, take a break.”

“What position will you be teaching? Seeker?”

Charlie nodded. Harry couldn’t believe his luck. “I heard you spent the summer at the Burrow,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, most of it. I did spend a few weeks in June helping rebuild Hogwarts.”

Charlie whistled softly. “I’m sorry I missed it. I’m sorry I missed it all.”

“No, don’t feel guilty,” Harry said. “You were one of the lucky ones being in Romania.”

“It wasn’t all peaceful,” Charlie said darkly. “Death Eaters tried to take our dragons about a dozen times.”

“How did you defend yourselves?”

“Oh, with a few curses, a few hexes,” Charlie said. “It was nothing too exciting.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” 

Charlie winked, and Harry laughed a little. Someone caught Charlie’s attention and Charlie nodded. “I’ve got to run. The opening remarks are about to begin.” 

“I’m sure I will see you around,” Harry said, grinning. 

“ _Harry Potter_!” Rita Skeeter called from across the room. She fluttered her fingers at him. “Yoo-hoo.”

 _Oh bloody hell_ , Harry thought, and escaped into a small side corridor filled with drink trolleys. At the other end of the corridor, a tall blond man delicately poured steaming tea into cups with his wand. 

With a sinking feeling, Harry recognised the man. Harry backed away, not looking where he was going, and collided with a trolley, its contents spilling to the floor. The man whirled around. In his distraction, he let tea spray the walls. 

“Potter,” Draco Malfoy growled. He cancelled his pouring spell.

Anger filled Harry, hot and sudden. He came to this camp to forget the war, not be reminded of it. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s sneer distorted his features. He blushed a blotchy pink. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re hiding in this corridor, messing about with the tea.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you accusing me of something, Potter?”

Harry blinked. “No … it’s just strange to see you here.” 

Malfoy raised his pointy chin. “Why? You don’t think I’m good enough?”

“Good enough for what?”

“Professional Quidditch, you moron.”

“What? They accepted _you_?”

Malfoy’s sneer deepened. He looked like he wanted to thrash Harry. When he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. “Of course not, Potter. Why do you think I’m serving the tea?”

“Oh, Christ.” A strange dread filled Harry. He massaged his brow with a hand. “Are you telling me you’re some kind of camp maid?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” Malfoy said, chin still high. “They would never hire a Death Eater to be the maid.”

“But here you are.”

Malfoy bared his teeth. “I’m Marcus Flint’s special assistant. That means I pour the tea, sweep the floors. Sometimes he even lets me ride a broom. It’s _grand_.”

“Marcus Flint is here?”

“He’s an instructor along with Oliver Wood and Charlie Weasley.” Malfoy made a gagging noise. 

“What did you have to do to get Flint to let you come?”

“Oh, _loads_ of things,” Malfoy drawled, jutting a hip to the side. Harry stared. Malfoy lost his confidence and turned away. “Can you politely fuck off now? I have work to do.”

Harry gulped, his mouth parched. “Sure, Malfoy.” 

Harry wandered out into the hall again and an official-looking wizard urged him into a seat at the front table. He spotted Charlie, Wood, and Flint standing with the other instructors on the speaking platform. 

Camp Director and current Head Coach of Puddlemere United Phineas Trout stood at the podium, smiling and chortling through his opening speech. He spied Harry and gave him a big and obvious wink. 

“Did you get that on film?” Skeeter urged her cameraman, somewhere behind Harry. 

Harry sank in his seat, hoping to avoid more attention. He spied Malfoy off to the side, hastily adding more tea to the banquet. Malfoy stopped for a moment to watch Trout, a wistful but hungry expression on his face.

*

Harry woke up the next morning in the recruit barracks. His bed was comfortable, the sheets crisp, his pillow soft, but everything else in the barracks was austere. The beds were in rows of three, a terrible bell screeching just outside. It was the morning bell, and Harry and other recruits were only afforded a sliver of time to get ready for the day. 

As Harry scurried toward the toilets, he wondered where Malfoy was and if the bell had woken him up as well. 

In the hall, Harry spotted Malfoy as he served a breakfast of porridge and toast. He wondered if Malfoy was embarrassed. 

Harry got in the porridge queue and waited with strange anticipation. Since yesterday, Harry had got to know the other recruits better, and he was surprised to discover that most of them came from wealthy families. He was less surprised when he found out that some of them had even bypassed Hogwarts to devote their entire adolescence to Quidditch. This was his competition. 

When Harry made it to the head of the queue, Malfoy glared at him and shoved a burning hot bowl into his hands. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy muttered a spell that forced Harry to turn abruptly and walk away. 

The spell released Harry near an empty table and Harry sat down to scarf down his breakfast. He watched Malfoy, and a hot flush spread across Malfoy’s face. Good. Harry was glad Malfoy knew he was watching.

The table didn’t remain empty for long; loads of recruits joined him. He smiled awkwardly at them and fiercely missed Ron and Hermione. Taking his meals in a big hall like this reminded him of Hogwarts, where all his mates were probably enjoying a breakfast overflowing with sausage and eggs and beans. The porridge was filling but it wasn’t a fry-up. 

Locke Higgins nabbed the spot next to Harry. Higgins occupied the bed next to Harry’s, and he had been nice enough the night before. 

Higgins was a Beater, and he looked like it too with his burly shoulders and square face. He had a hard look about him, but Harry had long learned not to judge people by their appearance. 

“Hello,” Higgins said gruffly, then began to shovel porridge into his mouth. 

Harry gave him a smile. Making friends was so uncomfortable in the beginning, and like a true Brit, Harry just wanted to apologise to the poor souls who had to suffer through his awkwardness. 

“Sleep well?” Harry said with some effort. 

“Aye.” Higgins chewed violently. “What about you?”

“Yeah, the beds are quite good.” The silence fell between them, and Harry imagined crickets chirping. 

“Aye. My bed was as soft as a cloud.”

“Yeah … sometimes beds aren’t so good, but these beds … quite good.” Harry was just repeating himself.

The bell screeched again, saving them both from the conversation. Benches slid back and the recruits shuffled from the hall. They headed for the pitch. 

The day was bright and hot, and the sky looked like a calm ocean above their heads. Harry was desperate to be on a broom. 

The instructors were already on the pitch when they arrived. Harry grinned at Charlie, whose hair looked like a bright flame in the sunlight. Wood was next to him, looking serious but good-natured. He was more muscular now, and wider in the face. Flint and Trout stood together, Flint being even uglier than Harry remembered. 

Beyond the instructors, almost hidden by a mountain of equipment, was Malfoy. Malfoy was the waterboy. He was quickly filling up leather flasks that floated in midair, ready for any thirsty recruit. 

Harry forced himself to pay attention to what the instructors were saying. He couldn’t let Malfoy distract him. He had to _impress_ people; he had to make sure everyone knew he was the best. 

The instructors divided them into groups for the warm-up. Harry was in the group that took to the sky first. 

Harry mounted his Firebolt Supreme 2 and shot into the sky. The speed of his broom never failed to amaze him. He and his groupmates followed Oliver Wood around the pitch. Wood had magicked his voice so they could hear them over the roar of air.

“Come on, recruits! _Faster!_ I want to see at least fifty laps from you. You’ve got fifteen minutes. I said faster!”

Sweat was stinging Harry’s eyes when his feet finally touched the ground again. His group had only completed thirty-four laps, and Wood looked furious. 

Next they were handed over to a female instructor with dark green hair. She eyed them like they were shit on the bottom of her boots. “You know what you look like?” she growled. They shook their heads. “You look like children, like amateurs. You lot would be lucky to even make it into the minor leagues!”

Harry gritted his teeth. He didn’t want anyone thinking he was an amateur. 

“Drop and give me twenty push-ups!” she said.

Harry did what he was told, but most of his group didn’t move. 

“What are push-ups, Instructor Hobbs?” said a recruit. 

“Oh, Merlin. It’s a Muggle exercise. Look at what Potter is doing. Follow his lead.”

Harry continued his push-ups filled with pride. 

It was later, when the Seeker recruits were working with Charlie on their reflexes, that Harry spotted Malfoy again. By this point, Harry was dying for a drink of water, but he was too much of a coward to go near the water station. 

The Seekers weren’t as far up in the sky as the rest of the recruits, and Harry could see Malfoy watching them. He could even make out his expression; it was filled with hungry yearning, and Harry felt a twist of guilt. 

If Malfoy had the talent, then he deserved to be up there with them. Harry couldn’t really remember if Malfoy was a talented Seeker. Their rivalry hadn’t been about skill or Quidditch or sportsmanship. It had been about Gryffindor vs Slytherin, right vs wrong, the Order vs the Death Eaters.

The Snitch flew right in front of Harry’s face, but he was too distracted by his thoughts to grab it in time. Fuck! Another recruit caught it a second later, and this recruit looked like a combination of Snape and Krum, the poor bloke. He smirked at Harry and raised his gigantic broken nose. Harry scowled at him. 

“Take a break, Harry,” Charlie said, reading his mood. “Get a drink of water and join us back up here in five.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry grumbled. 

Harry landed on the ground and took off his goggles, his eye sockets cold and sweaty. The back of his neck felt tender from the sun.

Malfoy watched him approach, a deep sneer twisting his lips. His face was all pink, but Harry didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or the sun. Malfoy shoved a flask into Harry’s hand, spilling some water over their fingertips.

“Enjoying yourself, Potter?” Malfoy said viciously. His grey eyes were glittering in an unsettling way. 

Harry took slow sips of the water. For some reason, he couldn’t look away from Malfoy’s face. “Do you really think you have what it takes to be a professional Seeker?”

“Don’t be rude.”

“What? It’s a warranted question.”

“ _Warranted_? I was one of the best Seekers Hogwarts had ever seen!”

Harry smirked around the flask’s mouth. “I still beat you every time.”

“You might be everyone’s saviour, but don’t test me, Potter.” Malfoy fingered his wand. 

The sun was getting to Harry. Not being the best was getting to him. He leaned forward, close, too close. “Are you threatening me?” he whispered. 

A strange look came over Malfoy’s face. His colour deepened. For a moment, he looked dazed, then his cold eyes snapped back to focus. “I’ll duel you, Potter. Anywhere, anytime. Just give me the signal.”

“Can’t,” Harry said, shoving the flask back into Malfoy’s hands. “I’m too busy being the best Seeker at this camp.” He mounted his broom and took off.

*

That night, Harry couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, a whimper or two escaping his lips. Higgins chucked his pillow at Harry’s head. “Shut up, will you.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry whispered harshly.

Higgins rolled over. “Stop moving about like your bed’s on bloody fire.”

Harry forced himself to be still. He glared up at the shadowy ceiling. He needed his sleep. Tomorrow would be _painful_ if he didn’t let his muscles recover. 

After a few minutes, he slipped from bed and wandered to the toilets. He was knackered, but he was also too wound up. His mind was full of heated thoughts of Malfoy and Charlie and Instructor Hobbs. Merlin, he wanted to impress Hobbs again. He wanted to impress every last one of the instructors. 

Leaving the tent, he wandered out onto the pitch. The grass was cool on his bare feet, the night incredibly dark. He didn’t mean to walk far. The cool air against his cheeks was a relief.

Straight ahead, light bobbed midair. Harry was too curious not to investigate. There was someone in the sky, not too far up. They were zipping around, practising their flying formations. Harry recognised the moves of a fellow Seeker; he recognised how talented the man was — the speed of his reflexes, the expert way he handled his broom. 

Harry watched the man, not caring if he was now right beneath the bobbing spotlights. The man was blond and tall, with long legs that wrapped firmly around his broom. With a shock, Harry realised he knew who it was.

“Malfoy,” Harry called out. 

Malfoy almost fell off his broom. It was obvious he hadn’t noticed Harry watching from the ground. He sped at Harry, broom handle aiming for his head. He jumped from his broom right before he hit him, and Harry stumbled back. Malfoy smirked. 

“What are you doing out here?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy’s face darkened. “Why were you spying on me?”

“I wasn’t spying. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know I’d find you out here.” 

Malfoy carded a hand through his tousled hair. His cheeks had a nice flush to them, and his eyes were bright. He looked almost happy. 

Smiling, Harry said, “I’m glad that Flint lets you do this.” It did something to him to see Malfoy enjoying himself for once. 

When Malfoy didn’t say anything, Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh … so he doesn’t know, then?”

“Can’t you just leave off?” Malfoy was gritting his teeth. “None of this is your business.”

“I want to help you,” Harry blurted out. He hadn’t realised it before he said it.

Malfoy started to laugh. It was cruel and desperate, and it would have made Harry draw his wand if he’d been fifteen years old again. But he wasn’t fifteen anymore. He was grown, and knackered. He just wanted to play Quidditch and forget about grudges. 

“Look,” Harry said, drawing close. Malfoy’s eyes widened just a fraction and he stepped back. Harry continued to close the space between them. “Look. I’m not taking the piss. I want to help you.”

“I don’t want your help.” Malfoy’s mouth had turned ugly, so ugly, but Harry couldn’t look away from his lips. They were pink, so pink, and they were wet. Harry saw a flash of Malfoy’s straight teeth, his quick tongue. 

For some stupid reason, Harry was leaning in even closer. Malfoy shoved him away. “What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?”

Harry finally dragged his gaze from Malfoy’s mouth. He looked into Malfoy’s eyes and was startled to see panic there. “Why don’t you want my help? Do you think I will try to sabotage you or something?”

Malfoy put his nose in the air. “You said you wanted to be the best at this camp.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, so do I. What if you start training me and then realise what’s been true all along? As I see it, _I_ should be the one training _you_.”

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it. This made Malfoy whip his wand from his pocket and point it into Harry’s face. 

“Let’s train each other,” Harry said, ignoring Malfoy’s wand. He was a touch frightened, but he would never let Malfoy see it. 

Malfoy’s wand dipped. The anger left his face again. For a moment, he didn’t speak; but then he whispered, “I want to do it by myself. I want it to be _my_ achievement.”

“Everyone needs help. Even you.”

“No.” Malfoy turned to Summon all the Seeker equipment he was using from the air. They didn’t speak as he returned the spotlights and Snitches to the large wooden chests that lined the pitch. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said, watching him. 

“Go back to bed, Potter.” Malfoy strutted away from him. Harry felt rooted to the spot: Malfoy had a terrific arse. Harry only moved from his spot after Malfoy disappeared from view.

*

The next morning, Harry found Charlie during breakfast and asked to speak to him in private. Looking concerned, Charlie followed him into a side corridor.

“What is it, Harry?”

“It’s about Malfoy.”

Charlie frowned, looking flummoxed. “What?”

“Malfoy … Draco Malfoy.”

“Flint was nice enough to bring him along as his assistant.”

“He wants to play … he wants to train with us.”

Now Charlie looked really confused. “Yes … of course he does. Why would he be here if he wasn’t interested in playing?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth. “Look, I’ve seen him on a broom. I’ve played against him. Believe me, he has the talent to be here.”

“Tons of people have the talent, Harry,” Charlie said. “That doesn’t mean they are automatically qualified for a spot in this training camp.” 

“What makes someone qualified? If they are famous? If their family’s rich?” 

“Harry … Malfoy _is_ rich. He comes from one of the richest wizarding families in Britain.”

“He’s not rich anymore. The reparations are bleeding his family dry.”

“Because they were Death Eaters. Malfoy was a Death Eater only a few months ago.”

“But it wasn’t like that,” Harry said. 

“He has the Dark Mark on his arm, doesn’t he?”

“I assume he does.”

“Then he was a Death Eater.”

“He saved my life. He lied for me.”

Sighing, Charlie rubbed hard at his freckled forehead. “It’s not my decision. You need to talk to Flint.”

“Why is it Flint’s decision? Why can’t you vouch for him yourself? All I ask is for you to give him a chance.”

“I thought you hated Malfoy,” Charlie said. “At least that’s what Ron told me. Weren’t you two rivals at Hogwarts?”

“We’re still rivals,” Harry said, but then fell silent. 

Charlie looked down at his big, freckled hands. “You can’t save everyone, Harry,” he said quietly. 

“I’m not trying to save him.”

“Aren’t you?” 

Harry felt his mouth thin. “I will talk to Flint,” he said, and walked away.

Harry went back to the hall to eat his breakfast. Someone else was serving the porridge today and Harry was grateful for it. He didn’t want to see Malfoy, not right now. He was too angry, too confused. Charlie was right. _Why_ was Harry so adamant about helping Malfoy? Was it just because he thought the bloke had a nice arse? Did having a nice arse erase everything bad Malfoy had ever done? What about justice for Katie Bell?

For the rest of the day, Harry went through the motions of practise, his head in a fog. There was someone else manning the water station, and while he was relieved he didn’t need to see Malfoy, it still made him suspicious of Flint. Had Flint done something to Malfoy? Was he punishing him in some way for using the camp’s equipment to practise in secret?

Harry approached Flint after the recruits had been released for dinner. The sun was dipping low in the sky, bursting with hot orange. Harry wiped the sweat from his face and gave Flint a respectful smile. Flint glared at him.

“What do you want, Potter?” Flint growled.

“Why do you think I want anything?”

Flint snorted. “Because you haven’t said one word to me since this camp began. I’m sure you thought you were _too good_ to speak to me, but now you realise I hold some power and not everything you do can bypass me.”

Harry inspected him, sizing him up. “I want to talk to you about Malfoy.”

Flint was already walking away, headed back to the camp tent. “I’m not sending him off. He’s here to help _me_.”

“I don’t want you to send him off,” Harry said, hustling to keep up. “I want the opposite actually. I want you and the other instructors to let him try out for the camp. He has the talent. I’m sure you already knew that.”

“No.”

Harry faltered. “What?”

Flint stopped and glared at him. “I said _no_. Draco’s here to help _me_ , not to be the next big thing in professional Quidditch. I’m sure he would love to be one of our recruits, I’m sure that’s why he’s here, but that wasn’t our deal.”

“What exactly was your deal?” Harry said. 

“That’s none of your business, Potter.” Flint tried to walk away but Harry grabbed him, which was the wrong thing to do. 

Flint yanked away, furious. “Don’t touch me! Do I need to remind you where you are? You might be everyone’s favourite hero on the outside, but in here you are just a measly recruit. _I_ call the shots at this camp, not you.”

“You want to punish him then? You want to punish both of us? Is that your game?”

“For the last time, our deal is none of your business. Now _leave off_.” Flint marched away.

Harry forced himself not to follow. Stupid, inappropriate jealousy filled him. What sort of deal did they have? Was Flint _forcing_ Malfoy to do things? Sexual things?

Harry shook himself. No, he didn’t know that for sure. He didn’t even know if Flint and Malfoy were into men. He was projecting, and enraged. In some ways, Flint was right. Harry _was_ everyone’s favourite hero. Since the end of the war, he had grown used to people listening to him, especially the Wizengamot. And the truth was that he was stunned both Flint and Charlie had refused to do what he asked. 

Maybe it was wrong for him to meddle, but Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy and he had to do _something_ about it.

*

Weeks passed in a muddled cloud of training and competition and sexual frustration. Harry rarely saw Malfoy now, and he had a sneaking suspicion Flint was keeping him out of sight. Harry also avoided the pitch after hours, which wasn’t very hard since he was too busy scurrying to the showers to wank in the middle of the night. It was _difficult_ being constantly surrounded by fit men with very little alone time. 

The truth was Harry fancied Malfoy. Perhaps he had always fancied him. The realisation hit him one night when he was in the middle of wanking for a second time. He only thought of Malfoy when he touched himself now. Harry didn’t panic; he didn’t try to fight his feelings. It was just one more thing he was unlocking about himself. It was just one more thing he had ignored out of necessity during the war. 

Harry should have fucked his way across Britain before coming to camp, but he hadn’t, and he was still too sexually inexperienced, still too _needy_. He had no idea what to do with the desire churning hotly inside him.

Another problem: the other blokes at the camp didn’t stand a chance against Malfoy. Nobody looked like him; nobody made Harry obsessed like he did. Harry wanted to track him down; he wanted to corner him somewhere dark and private and get his hands down his pants.

His feelings for Malfoy had come on abruptly, but Harry was too enthralled to retrace his steps. 

Then the dreams began. Harry needed his sleep for Merlin’s sake; he couldn’t go through camp like a zombie, like a half-wit. The dreams were only of him and Malfoy. Sometimes they were at Hogwarts — in the Gryffindor common room, under a tree that couples had favoured, in the Room of Requirement. Sometimes they were at camp — in the showers, on the muddy ground behind some bushes, even up in the air. They snogged and pawed at each other. Malfoy got Harry on his back and _forced_ his thighs apart. Harry did the same to Malfoy, but he was more gentle about it, most of the time. It all felt so real, but it wasn’t, and when Harry woke up, he was terrified he had moaned loud enough for others to hear.

Harry needed to see Malfoy. He really didn’t have the words to explain why. There was still so much left between them. He supposed he needed to once and for all decide if Malfoy was good or bad, because the war hadn’t been that long ago and Harry had never been good at thinking about things in shades of grey.

About three weeks later, Harry was still awake around midnight and knew there was a good chance Malfoy was out on the pitch, practising. The skies had been clear all day, and rain had not been forecast. Harry quietly left his bed and scurried outside. 

His heart was thumping too quickly when he spotted Malfoy zooming around in the sky. Harry cast a binoculars charm on his eyes, and Malfoy came into focus. Malfoy was running through one of Flint’s routines; in fact, Harry was sure the recruits had run through the same one just that morning. 

Malfoy sped through the air in a wide figure eight, his hands in the air, clutching two struggling Snitches. The routine was originally meant for Chasers; but it was good for every player to practise controlling and navigating their brooms with only their core strength. Malfoy was splendid at it; under the right charms, those Snitches fought for dear life in your hand, and it was paramount you kept your grasp on them while not losing speed or direction. 

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there watching Malfoy. The grass was cold and wet around his pyjama bottoms. The black sky twinkled above him, and only a soft breeze rustled the foliage. 

At last, Malfoy spotted him and dropped to the ground. He was wearing goggles, which made him look ridiculous. He snapped the goggles off, leaving two pink circles around his eyes. 

“Potter,” he growled. 

Harry grinned, he couldn’t help it. “Malfoy. That was _amazing_.”

Malfoy scoffed and tried to march past him. Harry grabbed his arm, expecting Malfoy to just yank away. Malfoy went still; he looked down at his arm, then up into Harry’s face. 

“Why are you touching me?” Malfoy said. 

“I want to talk to you.” Harry’s voice came out too rough. 

Malfoy sneered; still, he didn’t pull away. “There’s nothing to talk about. I already told you I don’t need your help.”

“No, no,” Harry said. “We don’t need to talk about that. We can talk about anything.”

“Anything?”

Harry finally released him. He cast a spell that mimicked a blanket on the ground and sat down. “Come on, Malfoy. Sit down with me.”

Malfoy visibly gulped. Harry couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. He lowered himself down beside Harry. 

“You haven’t been around,” Harry said.

“Yes, I have. I’ve just been out of sight.”

“Because of Flint?”

“Because I didn’t want to see _you_.”

Harry cocked his head. “Why not? I’m harmless.”

Malfoy threw his head back and laughed. The laugh wasn’t entirely cruel. Harry was mesmerised. Malfoy had never laughed like that around him; he’d only had glimpses of it from across the Great Hall or the other end of the corridor. 

“Where are you staying?” Harry said.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

“I thought it was clear I have an interest in you.”

“An interest?” Another gulp.

“Yeah … an interest. I — I guess you could say I care about you.”

“ _You care about me_?”

Why was Harry like a bull in a china shop in every conversation with Malfoy? Everything he said seemed to only make things worse, but he didn’t have the ability to be _strategic_ when talking to Malfoy. 

“I’ve been worried about you,” Harry said, fumbling and knowing it. He was being entirely too honest. 

Malfoy stared at him. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“What?”

“I don’t want you _worrying_ about me! I don’t want you to even think about me!”

“Why not?”

Malfoy turned his face away. It was too dark, but Harry was sure he was blushing. “You should open a charity shop, a sad little orphanage, and be done with it. _I don’t need you to save me_.”

Harry scooted closer so they touched. He didn’t say anything. He expected Malfoy to storm away in a rage, but Malfoy remained seated. Harry pressed closer, his face still not turned to Malfoy. Malfoy was warm and solid against his side. 

“Who do you think will be league champions this year?” Harry said.

“What?”

“I don’t think Puddlemere has a chance this year, do you?”

“ _What_? Of course Puddlemere has a chance!”

“No way. I have my money on the Arrows or Falcons winning.”

Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him, and Harry’s stomach squirmed. “Don’t tell me the Chosen One is a gambling man.”

“Oh, I’m definitely a gambling man.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened a bit. “What about the Harpies? Don’t you think they have a chance?”

“Sure, especially with Ginny on their team.”

“What do you think about Ginny Weasley? Do you think she’s tops?”

“At Quidditch? Definitely.”

“Do you think she’s fit?”

Harry looked at him but Malfoy turned away before their eyes met. “I used to think she was fit,” he said.

“Why the past tense? Did she break your heart?”

Harry’s throat constricted. “No … she just turned out to be not what I wanted.”

There was a long silence. “What are you saying?” Malfoy said quietly. 

Harry felt dizzy, all of his senses on overdrive. Even his skin felt too sensitive, too fragile. “I’m gay, Malfoy. Or maybe bisexual? I dunno. All I know is I’m not interested in women right now. I’m — I want men.” 

Harry expected a big reaction from Malfoy, but Malfoy barely even moved. He went still, so still he looked like a statue. He gazed far off into the distance, his eyes unfocussed. 

“Are you okay?” Harry said, leaning even closer. 

Malfoy moved suddenly, bringing their faces close, so close. Shuddering, Malfoy backed away. “I need to go.” 

“Oh.”

Malfoy stood and called back the practise lights hovering in the air. Harry watched him put everything away, enjoying the sight of his long, elegant body bending. Malfoy was bulking up, like Harry was bulking up. They were starting to look like athletes. 

When he was done, Malfoy came back to where Harry was sitting. He stared down at Harry, his gaze inscrutable. He opened his mouth like he meant to say something; then he shook his head and turned away.

“See you around, Potter.” 

“Yeah.” Harry watched him leave.

*

The next night Harry was awakened by something sharp prodding his head. Blurrily, he turned and found a note with a very pointed end in desperate need of his attention.

He sat up and captured the note. It was from Malfoy: _I’m in the corridor next to the sleeping quarters. I want to speak to you. - DM_

Harry was now wide awake. He scrambled from bed and threw on some clothes. He felt like he was flying as he made his way to the corridor. He had been so sure he’d mucked things up with Malfoy. He’d been so sure Malfoy would do everything in his power to avoid him.

Malfoy waited for him wearing all his practise gear. His goggles were even balanced on his head. “Can you get me into the magic-tech rooms?”

“Does this mean you want my help?”

Malfoy put his nose in the air. It was a very good nose. “I want _some_ of your help.”

“Let’s see if they have the rooms locked by a spell.”

Harry had only been in the magic-tech rooms a few times.

The rooms were underground, or what the tent’s magic mimicked as underground. Harry and Malfoy descended narrow, winding stairs until they hit two metal doors. The stairs were creaky and wooden, and the doors were modern, Muggle-esque. Everything in the tent was a weird mix of modern and old-timey, Muggle and magical.

The magic-tech rooms were definitely more Muggle in appearance. The metal doors weren’t locked and Harry easily pushed them open. Electric lights beamed on as they entered the first room. The lights weren’t really electric; it was just a spell that mimicked the harsh brightness of electricity. 

“Have you used the Seeker machine?” Malfoy said. It was strange to hear him say such a Muggle word — _machine_. He seemed to struggle with the word as well, his voice turning clipped. 

“Yeah, but only briefly. It’s a simulation, you know. It’s not really a machine, but it feels Muggle and high-tech, just to warn you.”

“High-tech?” Malfoy frowned. 

“You know, computers and such. It feels like it’s using a lot of technology, but it isn’t.”

“Computers. I see.” Malfoy sounded hesitant.

“Have you ever seen a computer? Ever used one?”

“Of course not,” Malfoy said disdainfully.

Harry didn’t have much experience with computers either — he’d been only able to play on Dudley’s when no one was home; but he’d pay a high price to see Malfoy clicking around on a keyboard. 

“Come on,” Harry said, smiling. “The Seeker simulation is in the other room.”

More lights turned on, revealing another cold metallic room. Contraptions lined the walls; some were obviously for exercise but others, like the simulation, were just a platform and a broom. 

“Here we are,” Harry said.

Malfoy stared at the platform like it was a puzzle. He gripped his wand tightly. 

“Climb up and mount the broom. That will activate the simulation.”

Malfoy had gone a bit pale. Gulping, he pulled down his goggles and jumped onto the platform. Harry wanted to tell him he needn’t bother protecting his eyes but it didn’t matter. Malfoy mounted the broom, and his mouth fell open as the broom levitated into the air. He was now inside the simulation. 

Harry sat down on the hard floor to watch him. Malfoy’s expression was astonished. Harry knew he now heard the roar of the crowd, felt the cool wind on his face. He had been dropped into the middle of a championship match. His team held onto a slim lead, but they were exhausted, flagging, and it was crucial that he catch the Snitch as soon as possible. 

Malfoy had fantastic technique. The way he sat on his broom, leaning forward a bit, his shapely thighs in absolute control. He swerved this way and that way. He fell into a Spiral Dive that turned into a Sloth Grip Roll. Harry watched the quickness of his hands, the strength in his grip. He didn’t look down at his broom once, not even when the spiral turned into hanging upside down, and he reached out with both hands in an attempt to catch the invisible Snitch. Harry was sure Malfoy could hang from his broom by just an ankle and still be in utter control. 

Malfoy was also making these noises. He was panting hard, absolutely enthralled in the simulation. He grunted when he dived and growled when the Snitch escaped his fingers. At one point, he groaned a heated, “Fuck,” and it made Harry’s prick twitch. 

Shit. Harry couldn’t get a stiffy now. It was too weird. All he was doing was sitting on the floor and watching Malfoy practise. 

Standing on his broom, Malfoy threw himself into the air, and his right hand curled around something invisible. Success at last. The charm prevented Malfoy from tumbling over the side of the platform. He landed back on his broom with elegant accuracy. 

Harry was on his feet when Malfoy threw the broom down and jumped off the platform. His colour was high and his chest was beating up and down. He looked exuberant; he looked like he could take on the whole world and win. 

“That was _brilliant_ ,” Malfoy said, goggles pushed up and eyes bright. He put his hands on Harry, on his shoulders, and Harry thought Malfoy would pull him into an embrace. 

“Well done,” Harry said. He clapped Malfoy on the back. “You were fantastic. I watched every second of it.”

“I want to do that again,” Malfoy said, still panting a little. 

Harry let his hand linger on Malfoy’s hot back. He felt his burning sweat through his clothes. “Yes. Tomorrow night. I can learn from just watching you.”

Malfoy seemed to remember himself. He pulled away, out of Harry’s reach. Something had shifted in Malfoy’s expression. He now looked embarrassed, or as embarrassed as he could look. 

“Thank you, Potter,” he said curtly.

Harry wanted to fall all over him. He wanted to lick the sweat from his neck. It was all so ridiculous.

“So, tomorrow then?”

“I can find this place again by myself,” Malfoy said. “I didn’t realise there was an underground portion.”

“Didn’t Flint tell you?”

Malfoy’s face darkened. “Why would he do that?”

Harry sighed. He hated that Malfoy was pushing him away again. “Will you teach me how you effortlessly fell into that grip roll in the middle of your Spiral Dive?” 

Malfoy smiled with all his teeth. “You thought it looked effortless?”

“Yeah.”

“Brilliant.” Malfoy was still smiling. He looked a bit predatory. “Sure, I can teach you.”

Harry hesitated. “Really? Or are you going to ask for something impossible from me in return?”

Malfoy strutted closer. He radiated confidence. “Nothing impossible. I just want to hear you say I’m better than you.”

Seeing Malfoy strutting was doing things to Harry. He backed away a little but Malfoy came closer. There wasn’t a wall behind Harry but he held his ground like there was one. 

“I admit I would struggle combining that dive and roll like you did, but you’re not _better_ than me.”

“Aren’t I?” Malfoy was so close Harry felt his breath on his face. 

Malfoy looked like a smug git in that moment but Harry was still mesmerised. He stared at Malfoy, unable to speak. Fuck, he wanted to kiss him. 

“Is that why you’ve been so desperate to ‘help me’? Is it because you know I’m better than you, that I have always been better than you? Has it all been about me helping _you_?”

“You deserve a spot in this camp.”

“But why, Potter? Why are you so sure about that?” Malfoy leaned in even more. Fuck, their lips were almost touching.

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. “You better stop, Malfoy, or I’m going to kiss you.”

Malfoy hesitated. Their eyes were locked, but Harry couldn’t read his expression. Malfoy stepped back and Harry gasped for air. He hadn’t realised he was holding his breath. 

“Fine,” Malfoy said, newly flushed. “I’ll teach you, Potter. Meet me tomorrow night on the pitch. Is ten o’clock late enough?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Malfoy nodded once and left him. 

Harry stood for a few moments, unable to move. His heart was hammering in his chest and his prick was entirely too interested. He could still feel Malfoy’s breath on his face.

Groaning, Harry hobbled to the showers. He had some wanking to do.

*

For the next month, Harry met Malfoy on the pitch almost every night. Things remained strictly business between them, but sometimes Malfoy wrapped his hand over Harry’s to secure his grip on his broom, or lay a heavy palm on his shoulder to angle his body in a certain way. 

Harry mentally took note of everything he learned from Malfoy. He wondered how and when Malfoy had perfected his techniques. He’d been good at school, but he hadn’t been this good.

Then, one night, as dark clouds disappeared from the sky, Malfoy showed Harry how to stand on his broom. It was a stupid trick, only for show-offs, but it came in handy when the Snitch was just out of arm’s reach and you were prepared to do anything to end the match. 

At first, Malfoy had Harry hover in the air just at hip level. “Remember your grip,” he said sternly. “All of your weight will rest on your hands while you get your footing.”

Harry attempted to jump and land on his broom, one fluid motion, but his feet slipped and he landed on his arse.

Malfoy’s laughter was loud and barking. 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said, grinning and rubbing his arse. He scrambled back on his broom.

“Stop trying to show off,” Malfoy said. “You need to do it slowly at first. Speed will come later.”

“I just want to impress you,” Harry murmured, focussed on gripping his broom properly. He didn’t want to sprain his wrists.

“I’m already impressed,” Malfoy said. “You’re gripping the broom at the wrong angle again. We’re Seekers. We must protect our wrists. They can only handle so many mending spells.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, fixing his grip. Malfoy growled. 

Harry leaned forward like Malfoy had shown him, resting all his weight on his hands. He hooked his left ankle around his broom, using his toes to push up until his foot was balanced. Then he did the same with his right foot. It was awkward, clumsy, and achingly slow. His hands began to shake. 

“Stop being self conscious,” Malfoy said. “Just do it.”

Wobbling, Harry slowly let go of the broom, then using his arms to balance, he raised up until he was in a standing position.

“Very good,” Malfoy said, circling him. He rarely praised Harry, and this time it made Harry tumble off his broom again. 

“Fuck,” Harry said, on the ground.

Malfoy laughed and offered his hand. He helped Harry to his feet, but their hands lingered together for a moment, both of them not letting go right away. Malfoy showed no sign he was aware of their flirting.

“Try it again, Potter,” he said. “You will get the hang of it.” 

It was later on, when Malfoy was demonstrating how to complete a Gwenog Feint, which was just a Wronski Feint but in midair, that Charlie decided to reveal himself. He called for Harry and Malfoy to join him on the ground.

Charlie held a pair of Omnioculars. His expression was unreadable.

Harry’s stomach sank. He had no idea that someone had been watching them, and he was sure Charlie was going to reprimand them for using equipment without permission. 

Malfoy landed on the ground next to Harry. He had paled but his chin jutted forward. He was preparing for a row.

“That was very good, Malfoy.”

“Thank you, Weasley.”

Charlie’s eyebrows rose and Malfoy gulped. “I mean, thank you, Instructor Weasley,” he said. 

Charlie stared at Malfoy. “I’ve been watching you two for a while now.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “You knew we were out here?”

Shrugging, Charlie said, “You weren’t the first to use equipment after hours, but I don’t appreciate you sneaking down to the magic-tech rooms without permission. Those simulations are fragile and worth more than a vaultful of Galleons.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry said. 

Charlie was still eyeing Malfoy. “You impressed me, Malfoy. Harry told me you were good but I needed to see it for myself.”

Malfoy gritted his teeth. “Potter spoke to you about me?”

Harry closed his eyes. _Fuck_.

“Yes, he did,” Charlie continued, even though Harry was mentally pleading for him to shut up. “He said you deserved a spot, said you had a rare talent for Quidditch. I told him everybody here has a rare talent or they wouldn’t be here.”

“Right,” Malfoy said.

Charlie looked at both of them, his expression still unreadable. “Come to my office tomorrow, Malfoy. I’ll be there before breakfast. We will talk then.”

“Yes, sir,” Malfoy said softly.

Charlie began to trudge back to the tent. He stopped and said over his shoulder, “I hope it goes without saying not to tell Instructor Flint?”

Malfoy nodded. “Of course.”

When Charlie was gone, Harry turned to Malfoy. “Look,” he said. 

Malfoy was shaking. “Was this nothing but a set up?”

“What?”

“Did you ask him to be out here? Plead with him? Did you not give a shit about what I could teach you?”

“I asked him to give you a chance but it was ages ago. I was only trying to help you.”

“For the last time, I don’t need your help!” 

“You need to stop being so _proud_ , so — so stupid!” Harry was now seething just as much as Malfoy. 

Malfoy’s chest beat up and down. “My pride is the only thing I still have left!” 

“So what? Are you not going to meet with Charlie tomorrow? Are you too good for any help at all?” 

“It’s none of your business,” Malfoy snarled. 

Harry wanted to shove him to the ground. He wanted to get his hands around his neck. “Fine. Whatever. Ruin the only opportunity you have, Malfoy. _I don’t care_.”

“It won’t be my only opportunity! I will create other ones — I will create opportunities _worthy_ of me.”

“Whatever.” Harry stomped away, leaving Malfoy to put away the equipment.

*

The announcement came two days later. It was breakfast time and Harry was pushing around his porridge. 

Instructor Wood stood and shot a few sparks in the air to get everyone’s attention. All the chatter died down. “We would like to announce a new addition to our camp: Draco Malfoy.” Malfoy appeared from a side door and took an open seat at a table. There was a good amount of whispers but he kept his head high. “Malfoy will join the other Seeker recruits under the direction of Instructor Weasley.”

There was no applause, no warm smiles. The hall stared at Malfoy, and Malfoy pretended not to care. He wasn’t even blushing.

Harry found Flint among the instructors group. Flint was smiling. He was smiling like he’d just won a big prize, and Harry didn’t know why.

“That Malfoy bloke,” Higgins said. “Isn’t he a Death Eater?”

“He was,” Harry said. 

“I can’t believe they let a Death Eater join the camp,” said another recruit. “It’s _immoral_.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry said, tired. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“What else is there to know?” Higgins said. “He took the Dark Mark, didn’t he? He’s probably killed people.”

Harry stared at Malfoy’s white-blond head. He didn’t think Malfoy had it in him to be a murderer; even Dumbledore had known that. But Malfoy had definitely hurt people. 

Harry gulped down his porridge.

*

Harry’s performance at practise deteriorated. He had shown a lot of improvement over the last couple of months, especially when he’d spent his nights being instructed by Malfoy. But now Malfoy was officially Harry’s competition, and he was inescapable. He was also ignoring Harry, pretending like he didn’t exist, and it was _infuriating_. 

Harry was drowning. That’s what it felt like during practise. He was drowning and he had no idea how to save himself. He was too hyperaware of Malfoy, too distracted by him. When he chased after the Snitch, speeding through formations, he felt like Malfoy was judging him. He knew Charlie was watching him, and he knew Charlie was disappointed in him.

The problem was Harry couldn’t think, or he was thinking too much. Quidditch used to come naturally to him. He hadn’t even known what the sport was when he first zipped around on a broom, fueled by nothing by instinct. He was used to things coming naturally to him. He was used to hard work but not failure. He was failing now and he didn’t know how to stop. 

He thought about Malfoy constantly. His dreams still continued and most mornings he woke up with a stiffy. He hated that he was this twisted up about Malfoy when Malfoy could completely ignore him. 

He hated that Malfoy was better than him, that everyone _knew_ he was better than him.

About a week after Malfoy became a recruit, Harry lay in bed, doing his best not to toss and turn. He didn’t want to wake up Higgins. He felt overheated and jumpy. He felt like he could run for miles. 

Giving up, he slipped from bed. Malfoy still hadn’t slept with the other recruits, but this didn’t stop Harry from looking around the barracks, wondering if he would spot him. 

Harry headed for the showers. His cock was already growing hard. He had done too much wanking in the shower and now just thinking about the private stalls made him twitch. 

His heart sank when he heard the water running in one of the stalls. He always hated it when another recruit was showering this late at night. The showers were his special place when everyone else was asleep. 

Harry froze when he neared the occupied stall; the stall door was open. Not cracked, not accidentally unlatched, _wide open_.

 _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Harry thought. He couldn’t handle seeing a bloke starkers right now. He just couldn’t.

Harry tried to scurry past the stall without looking in but he failed miserably. There was a man in there, back to the open door. Harry stopped. It was Malfoy. 

Malfoy was scrubbing his face with a flannel, his pale, firm arse shaking a little with his motions. Holy fuck. Harry couldn’t breathe. 

Malfoy drew the flannel down his long neck, over his muscled shoulders. He was fit, _Merlin_ was he fit. The flannel dropped lower, caressing his flat stomach. Malfoy let out a soft sigh. He bent down, all the way down, to scrub his ankles. Harry had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. With Malfoy bent over like that, he could see all of his arse, even a hint of bollocks. Harry imagined himself closing the space between them and dropping to his knees. He’d spread Malfoy’s firm cheeks, spread them so wide. He would put his mouth on Malfoy and feel his arse clench around his tongue. 

Gasping, Harry stumbled blindly to another stall. He slammed the door, unable to be quiet. He turned on the shower, not caring that he got his pyjamas wet. He tore his bottoms down and wrapped a hand around his desperate cock. He pressed his open mouth to the cold tile, trying to muffle himself. It took only three rough strokes before he painted the tile with his come.

When his head stopped spinning and he was able to hear again, he realised the other shower had turned off. He looked at the closed door of his stall and saw two bare feet on the other side. 

“Malfoy,” he said, voice echoing. He sounded desperate. 

After a moment, the pale feet walked away.

*

Over the next couple of weeks, things only continued to grow worse for Harry. Malfoy was _everywhere_. He was charming. The other recruits began to warm toward him, which made Harry happy and infuriated. He hadn’t a clue how someone could be those two things at the same time, but he was. 

Malfoy made the others laugh. He was a wonderful storyteller, the clod. His refined features grew animated and enthralled as he recited his stories. Most of them ended with him making an utter fool of himself. Harry was pretty sure most of it was a lie. The stories took place at Hogwarts, and Harry couldn’t remember any of it. 

It was also undeniable that Malfoy had impressive skill as a Seeker. Even the blokes who sneered at him in the hall had to agree. 

They’d had a sexual encounter … of sorts. Malfoy heard him orgasm; he heard him lose control. The worst part was Harry had acknowledged Malfoy’s presence … one could even say he’d invited Malfoy to join him; but Malfoy had walked away. 

Harry thought he had been obsessed with Malfoy before; but now he was actually orgasming in his sleep. He made sure to cast Silencing Charms before he went to bed, but who knew how long they lasted? He really, really hoped the rest of the recruits didn’t hear him coming inside his own underpants, night after night. And it _was_ every night. The good news was Higgins hadn’t brought it up and wasn’t avoiding him, so maybe Harry was getting away with it. 

Harry was glad the other recruits were accepting Malfoy. He was _thrilled_ Malfoy now had a chance to prove his worth. Harry just wished he could regain control of himself. He knew he worried Charlie. He knew Charlie wished to speak to him, but he did everything in his power to avoid him. He didn’t want to hear about anyone's _concerns_ for him. He was Harry Potter; he’d defeated Voldemort. He _would_ get through it. 

On Friday, after a long day of flying against bellowing winds, many of the recruits decided to patron a pub in a nearby village. The pub was small and quaint, and the recruits were rowdy. 

Malfoy was there. He bought pints for the blokes at his table. They roared and clapped him on the back. “Good man, this Malfoy!” one of them yelled.

“Yes, Malfoy. I do believe we are mates now.”

“You’re nothing but sorry drunks, the lot of you,” Malfoy crowed. He was beaming. This made his table roar even louder.

Harry watched from a few tables over. His tablemates were almost equally as rowdy, but he couldn’t bring himself to join their merriment. God, he missed Ron and Hermione fiercely. He hadn’t written to them all that much; it was too painful. 

Harry watched Malfoy like a hawk. He couldn’t help it, especially after he’d downed a few pints. Malfoy was gorgeous. His white-blond hair was like a beacon in the gloomy pub. Harry’s cock was getting hard by just watching him smirk and smile. His voice was so bloody posh; it was utterly _infuriating_.

Higgins approached Harry from another table and nabbed the seat next to him. “You look like you want to hex someone, mate.”

“I do?”

“Aye.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m pissed.”

“You’re not that pissed.”

“What’s it to you?”

Now it was Higgins' turn to shrug. “I might have noticed you’ve been struggling.”

Harry snorted. “Everyone’s noticed I’ve been struggling. I make a fool of myself every practise.” He was looking at Malfoy again, and Higgins followed his gaze. 

“Playing Quidditch can’t be about defeating one particular person.”

“I don’t want to _defeat_ him.”

“Merlin,” Higgins muttered, and took a gulp of his pint. 

Harry was now hot in the face. “I don’t want to defeat him. I want to be the best. There’s a difference.”

Higgins muttered again. He rolled his eyes skyward as if to ask a higher power for some patience. “I’m going to say this only once. That’s all my manly, non-existent heart can take. Listen closely: _Just go talk to him_.”

Harry sputtered. “It’s not like that!” he lied. His cheeks were flaming; in fact, his whole body was heated. Maybe Higgins _had_ heard him in the middle of the night. 

Higgins’ attention was now on the telly above the bar. There was a football match on. “Explain football to me again,” he said, intrigued. 

Sighing, Harry said, “The first thing you need to know is it’s played on the ground, absolutely no brooms involved.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yes, well, Muggles can’t fly, you know.”

“Yes they can! They got those metal contraptions with the two wings.”

“No Muggle wants to kick a ball around eleven metres in the air.”

“Sounds like Muggles don’t want to have any fun, eh?”

Harry laughed loudly, despite his dark mood. Higgins looked quite pleased. “Thanks, mate,” Harry said, grinning. “I really needed that.” He glanced past Higgins at the other table and found Malfoy watching him. Malfoy quickly looked away when their eyes met. 

“Your next pint’s on me,” Higgins grunted. He wandered off to the bar.

An hour and two pints later, Harry was more than a little drunk. He needed the toilet but he also didn’t want some drunk bastard to steal his chair. Grumbling, he accepted his fate and staggered across the pub, the whole room spinning quite nicely. 

Afterward, when he was staggering back down the dark narrow corridor, he spotted Malfoy. Malfoy was leaving through the back door, into the alley behind the pub. Harry followed. 

“Oi, Malfoy,” Harry called, the back door slamming behind him. 

Malfoy turned. “What do you want, Potter?” he drawled. 

Harry stumbled over his own feet as he moved closer. He caught himself on the grimy wall. “You were staring at me.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.” Harry bit his lip, hot images flashing in his blurred mind. “You need to learn how to close the door when you shower.”

Malfoy’s smirk was fierce. “Go home, Potter.”

“Can’t. I’d Splinch myself.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Find someone to Side-Along with. I need to go.”

“Everyone in there is as drunk as I am. Are you really going to leave me here alone?”

Malfoy hesitated. “Pay a Muggle to take you back in one of their automobiles.” 

Harry stepped closer. “I want to go home with you.”

“Merlin, Potter.” Malfoy stumbled back. He looked panicked.

Harry advanced on him. He suddenly felt angry and a little sober. “What is your game, Malfoy? You’ve ignored me since you became a recruit. You pretend I don’t exist. Then you shower with the door wide open, showing any passing bloke your tight arse.”

Malfoy lifted his chin. “Maybe I was waiting for someone else.”

Harry hesitated, now unsure. “Were you waiting for … Flint?”

“Bugger off!” Malfoy tried to shoulder past him, but Harry grabbed his arm. Harry thought Malfoy would punch him, but Malfoy swerved them around and pinned Harry to the wall. 

“Oh,” Harry said. 

“Is this what you want?” Malfoy hissed, breathing hotly in his face. Malfoy leaned in so closer that their lips almost touched. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“I can’t stand you.” Malfoy dropped to his knees. For a brief moment, Harry didn’t understand; then Malfoy began yanking at his belt. 

“Here?” Harry whispered.

“Shut up, Potter.” Malfoy got Harry’s trousers down, then his underpants. He sat back on his heels to stare at Harry’s rapidly hardening cock. “You fucking bastard.”

“What?” Harry glanced down at his own cock. 

“Merlin, I hate you.” Malfoy took him into his mouth, sucking. Harry threw his head back, forgetting about the wall. He hit the back of his head, hard. 

“Oh, God.” His hands found Malfoy’s soft blond hair. 

Malfoy took him deeper into his mouth, moaning. He drew back. “Look at you,” he murmured. “I can barely get my lips around you.”

Harry made a high, needy noise. He knew he was big; his size had even scared Ginny a little the one and only time they messed around. 

“Please,” Harry said. 

Malfoy glared up at him, his eyes burning silver. “I told you to _shut up_.”

Harry bit his lip again. He curled his fingers into Malfoy’s hair, needing to hold onto something. Malfoy took his time tasting Harry, his pink tongue dragging up his shaft, whirling around his emerging head. Malfoy stroked him with a tight fist, pushing back his foreskin. He swirled his tongue again, pausing to trace his little slit. Harry slapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle his cries.

Then Malfoy began to bob his head and Harry’s eyes rolled up. He’d never felt anything close to this level of pleasure. 

Malfoy’s mouth felt incredible; Harry couldn’t get enough of its hungry wetness. Malfoy’s head moved up and down, his tongue flicking. Malfoy groaned and increased his suction. 

“Please,” Harry said again, his thighs trembling. His orgasm was coming on too quickly. “Oh, _please_.”

Groaning again, Malfoy took Harry even deeper, into his constricting throat. Harry came with a high, embarrassing cry. He fucked Malfoy’s mouth, his hands fisting his soft hair, his bollocks chafing his chin. 

Malfoy drew back with a gasp, his lips swollen, drenched. Harry could barely see. 

Malfoy nuzzled the inside of Harry’s thigh as he waited for Harry to calm down. He stood and opened his mouth to Harry’s, pressing his tongue past his lips and forcing Harry to taste himself. It wasn’t a kiss, not really.

“Are you sure you like cock?” Malfoy’s voice was raw.

“Yes.”

Malfoy stepped back. He looked down at Harry’s still exposed prick. “Of course you’re hung. _Of course_.”

Harry tucked himself away. “What does that mean?”

Malfoy just shook his head. He took a deep breath and eyed Harry. “Do you still want to go back to mine?”

A soft, lazy smile curled Harry’s lips. “Yeah.”

*

Malfoy lived in a sad little flat in the village. Harry didn’t like to judge other people’s living arrangements, especially since he spent ten years of his life sleeping in a cupboard, but Malfoy lived in a rundown flat with leaky pipes, chipped paint, and a battered door that barely hung onto its hinges. It was a far cry from the aristocratic manor. 

Malfoy watched as Harry took in his surroundings, a deep, unpleasant sneer twisting his face. Harry tried and failed not to show his shock. 

“Haven’t you heard?” Malfoy spat. “I’m _poor_ now.”

“I heard,” Harry said calmly. A low gurgling noise came from the tiny kitchenette. 

“Don’t mind the stupid Muggle appliances,” Malfoy said. “They all have grudges against me.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows and wandered into the kitchen. The refrigerator had piddled on the floor. “Does this place have a caretaker? Perhaps you should ring them about the appliances.”

“Absolutely not.” Malfoy gave a ridiculous shudder. “I refuse to let Muggles into my flat.”

“Oh Jesus.” Harry walked back to the lounge. Malfoy followed, looking intrigued. 

“It’s always interesting when you talk like one of them.” Malfoy plopped down on the sagging sofa. He winced when the springs cried out. 

Harry joined him on the sofa. “You mean when I talk like a Muggle?” He could now see Malfoy’s swollen lips up close. He struggled to look away. 

“Yeah. I think it’s ironic, you being practically Muggle-born and also our _saviour_. Very ironic.”

“Why?” Harry knew what Malfoy meant but he didn’t like it. “Also, I’m not practically Muggle-born.”

Malfoy huffed. “How many people died in both wars? _Tons_. The newspapers estimate thousands. I find it very interesting that all those pure-blood witches and wizards lost their lives when _you_ survived, someone raised by Muggles.”

“You sound disappointed.”

Malfoy dropped his eyes. “I’m not.”

“Witches and wizards aren’t automatically better than Muggles.”

“We’re more powerful.”

“Not necessarily. And anyway, being the most powerful doesn’t mean you are the best. I proved that when I defeated Voldemort.”

Malfoy looked like he wanted to argue but he didn’t continue the topic. Instead he smirked and gave Harry a filthy, filthy look. “Are you going to reciprocate or what?”

“You want me to?” Harry gulped. 

“Of course I want you to.” Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “I’ll never want my cock sucked in some dirty alleyway.”

Harry caught his breath. He was amazed at how easily Malfoy spoke of such things. Sometimes Harry still struggled even admitting that he wanted men. 

“When did you know?” Harry said softly.

“Know _what_?” Malfoy looked impatient. 

Another gulp. “When did you know that you liked boys — men?”

Malfoy’s expression shuttered. “I’ve known forever.”

“Really?”

“Look — are you going to suck my cock or what? I can’t sit around all day waiting. I need my sleep.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth. He looked at Malfoy, trying to decipher his expression. Was Malfoy really that nonchalant about having sex with him? 

“I want to kiss you.”

“No.”

“Really?” Harry said, surprised. “You will … suck me but not kiss me?”

Malfoy was angry now. Fear glinted in his eyes. “Why can’t you just let things _be_? Why must you always get under my skin?”

Harry moved closer. “Just a little kiss.”

“Merlin,” Malfoy said, and kissed Harry violently, their teeth clashing. For a moment, Harry barely felt anything; then Malfoy’s lips softened and a shudder went through Malfoy’s body. Harry angled his head and pressed closer. He tasted the beer on Malfoy’s mouth. 

“Yes,” Harry said, shaking, drawing back to nibble a little on Malfoy’s bottom lip. He framed Malfoy’s face and drew him into a burning, slow kiss. Malfoy moaned. 

Harry knew how to snog. It was pretty much the only thing he knew. He coaxed Malfoy’s mouth into surrender, their tongues brushing, stroking together. Malfoy tasted so damn delicious.

Malfoy was panting now. He clutched at Harry, pulling him closer. Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy, kissing him deeper, tasting every part of his mouth. Malfoy melted into him. 

“Yes,” Harry said again, because it was the only thing he could say. He kissed down Malfoy’s long, pale throat. He licked and sucked his tender flesh, and Malfoy squirmed and made soft, pleading sounds. Harry was getting hard again, rock hard. He was getting desperate. 

Malfoy yanked back to gasp for breath. He touched his lips in amazement. “Fuck.”

Harry slipped to his knees between Malfoy’s warm thighs. Malfoy’s hands shook as he tore off his belt and shoved down his trousers and underpants. His cock was pink, so pink; it was thin and pretty, and Harry wanted to taste every inch of it. 

Harry hadn’t sucked cock before but he was very eager. Heart thumping, Harry took Malfoy into his mouth awkwardly. Malfoy hissed and yanked his unruly hair. “Teeth,” he hissed. 

Closing his eyes, Harry slid down Malfoy’s shaft, saliva escaping his aching lips. He tried to cover his teeth but he was overwhelmed and incredibly turned on. Malfoy’s smell filled his nose, his taste intimate and wonderful. 

Harry bobbed slowly. He sucked hard and Malfoy gasped and thrust up without warning. Harry choked and jerked back. Everything was so wet, so awkward. Harry laughed without looking at Malfoy. Malfoy buried his hands in Harry’s hair and pressed hard on his head. 

“Hold your horses,” Harry muttered.

“Hold my _what_?”

Harry took him in hand, stroking slowly. He licked and sucked Malfoy’s cockhead, taking his time, savouring the drops of wet that bubbled from his little slit. Malfoy’s thighs began to shake and Harry glanced up at his face. Malfoy looked shocked and desperate; his pupils were wide, taking up most of his eyes; his mouth was pink and open, and trembling. Harry raised up to kiss him.

“No,” Malfoy said into Harry’s mouth and ripped away. He put his hands on Harry’s head again, urging him down. 

“Yes, yes.” Harry sucked him back down, trying his best to open his throat and relax his neck. He cradled Malfoy’s furred bollocks and bobbed his head. He felt Malfoy stiffen even more against his tongue.

Malfoy whimpered, his mouth pressed closed. He came down Harry’s throat, shaking and barely breathing. Harry tried to swallow it all down and watch Malfoy’s expression at the same time. When Malfoy relaxed, Harry pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His glasses were smudged; he took some time cleaning them with a spell.

“You’re brilliant,” Harry said, trying to kiss him again. Malfoy grimaced and turned his face before their lips brushed. 

“I know I’m brilliant,” Malfoy said, voice clipped. His cock was still out. 

Sighing, Harry got to his feet. He was hard and desperately wanted Malfoy to touch him again, but Malfoy wasn’t looking very friendly right now. In fact, he looked like he wanted Harry to leave.

“Um,” Harry said. 

Malfoy finally put his pretty prick away. “It’s getting late.”

“Right.”

Malfoy didn’t look at him. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Harry smiled. Malfoy looked as if he was steeling himself for Harry to lash out or make a demand. Harry went to the door. “I’ll see you at practise.”

Malfoy stared down at his empty hands, surrounded by shadows. Harry left.

*

Harry’s performance on the Quidditch pitch improved dramatically. It was like fucking Malfoy had turned on a Muggle switch in Harry’s head. He felt energised and motivated. He could actually focus in practise, not fumble about like an idiot. His performance shocked the other Seekers and impressed the instructors. Harry caught Malfoy smirking at him throughout the day. The smirk wasn’t mean or taunting; it was congratulatory, perhaps a bit bemused. Harry didn’t care. He just liked beating Malfoy to the Snitch. 

Harry would have thought sucking off Malfoy would mean he was even more distracted, but his distraction only came at night, when he lay in bed and tried to sleep. His cock was always rock hard during these moments. His heart was always pounding too quickly. He wanted to shag Malfoy again. He wanted to get him on his back, make him beg and writhe and clench greedily as Harry _forced_ inside him. Because Malfoy was right. Harry did have a huge cock, and he wasn’t so sure Malfoy could take him. 

Then, one night about a week after the quick shag in Malfoy’s flat, Harry lost the battle with himself and left his bed to wander into the showers. Malfoy was still practising by himself at night and Harry knew he liked to shower before heading home. He didn’t want Malfoy to think he was _desperate_. He liked imagining Malfoy waiting for him, taking extra long showers, the stall door just casually left open. 

When Harry entered the showers, he heard running water and his stomach clenched in excitement. _Calm down_ , he told himself. With his luck, he was about to stumble upon Flint showering, not Malfoy.

Harry rounded the corner and saw that a stall door all the way at the end was open a crack. Heart thumping, he headed for the door and pushed it open. There was Malfoy, starkers, his brilliant arse on full display.

Harry shut the stall door and removed his clothes. His hands were shaking. Malfoy stilled but didn’t look over his shoulder. Harry closed the space between them and dropped to his knees, not letting himself think. He parted Malfoy’s muscular cheeks and swiped his tongue over his arsehole. Malfoy cried out. 

_Oh, fuck_ , Harry thought. He never thought he’d ever make someone cry out like that. Malfoy pressed into his mouth, gasping, his whole body shaking. 

Harry licked and licked, tasting sharp soap and salty water. He tasted Malfoy’s arse, the secret tang of it, and he almost lost his mind. He pressed the tip of his tongue to his hole, urging him to relax, to open, to let him slip inside.

“Merlin,” Malfoy whispered to the tile.

“You taste so good,” Harry moaned, muffled. He drilled into Malfoy, not really knowing what he was doing. He began to fuck Malfoy’s arse with his tongue, in and out, and Malfoy was _clenching_. Malfoy’s right arm moved desperately as he jerked himself off. Malfoy’s panting whines echoed loudly in the stall. “Can I finger you?” Harry didn’t recognise his own voice.

“Fuck.”

“Yes or no?” Harry dragged his tongue over his hole, slowly, teasingly. 

“Just — _yes_.” 

Harry kissed and nibbled Malfoy’s cheek as he gently worked a digit into his clinging arse. Malfoy gasped and pushed back. Harry fucked him slowly, so slowly. His cock ached as he felt how tight and warm Malfoy was around his finger. 

“Do you want more?” Harry said. He felt confident, so confident, and it was a shock.

Malfoy thrashed, the muscles in his long pale back tensed. “Yes, you bastard.”

Harry sank his teeth into his arse cheek, a love bite. He muttered a wandless lube spell but the water washed most of the slick away. Harry worked a second finger into Malfoy, then he moved his fingers together, picking up speed. 

Malfoy twisted; he clawed at the tile. He was speaking but Harry couldn’t make out most of his words. “ _More_ ,” Malfoy gasped.

“Fuck yes.” Harry stood shakily. He muttered another spell, this time shielding the slick with his hand. He pressed his throbbing cock to Malfoy’s hole. He thrust forward, needing to feel Malfoy’s snug, clinging arse.

“No!” Malfoy ripped away. 

“Oh — I’m sorry!” Harry’s heart was pounding. 

“That’s not what I want,” Malfoy hissed, his eyes glittering.

“I misunderstood.” Harry reached for Malfoy, hesitating, giving Malfoy the opportunity to move away. Malfoy let Harry wrap his arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

“Merlin, Potter. Shut up.”

“No, I’m sorry. I made an assumption and I almost hurt you.”

Malfoy pulled him into a painful kiss. He captured Harry’s bottom lip and tugged it hard. “I said,” Malfoy growled, his hand slipping down to wrap around Harry’s stiffy, “to _shut up_.”

Harry moaned liquidly into his mouth. Needing air, he ended the kiss and rested his forehead against Malfoy’s strong shoulder. Malfoy continued to work him over, not stopping, not pausing. Harry was quickly spiraling closer to orgasm and he couldn’t hang on.

Malfoy kissed his ear. He whispered, “Are you going to come, Potter? Are you going to spill all over my hand? I want you to, Potter. I want you to make a mess. I can feel it, you know. You are so fucking stiff. You like my hand fucking you, don’t you? _Don’t you_?”

“Oh, God.” Harry bit down on Malfoy’s shoulder, his cock jerking. He came all over Malfoy’s hand, and Malfoy moaned and quickened his stroking. 

Harry was still coming down from his orgasm when he dropped to his knees and took Malfoy’s straining prick into his mouth. Malfoy slumped back on the wall and buried his hands in Harry’s dripping hair. Harry bobbed his head quickly, his lips covering his teeth. 

Harry thought about all the times they fought at Hogwarts, all the times they had battled on the Quidditch pitch. He thought about Malfoy in Potions, smirking, sneering, daring Harry to respond, to look, to _attack_. Now Harry was on his knees, sucking Malfoy’s cock; now he was making him whimper so needily. _Is this what he wanted all along?_ Harry thought as he eagerly choked himself. 

It wasn’t like Harry was an expert. He didn’t know what he was doing, not really. He just liked having Malfoy’s cock in his mouth; he liked having Malfoy beneath him, writhing, moaning. He just liked _touching_ him. 

“I’m coming,” Malfoy whispered, and his voice almost sounded sweet. Harry sucked harder, went deeper. His throat was burning, his lips stretched painfully, but it was good, so, so good. Harry struggled swallowing all of Malfoy’s load; it dripped from his lips and escaped down the drain with the shower water. Malfoy tore more than a few strands of hair from Harry’s head. 

When it was all done, Harry cradled Malfoy against the humid tile wall. Malfoy trembled all over. 

“Brilliant,” Harry said, and nibbled along Malfoy’s sharp jaw.

“Why can’t you just walk away?” Malfoy murmured.

“You want me to leave?”

“I don’t know.”

Harry grinned. “What do you know?”

Malfoy stared at his mouth. “I want you to start training with me at night again. I need an underling, someone who is not as good but who still pushes me to be better.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re not better than me!”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and Harry kissed him, unable to stop himself. “I’ll do it,” he whispered.

They both froze when another recruit walked into the room. The recruit wandered past their stall, paused, then doubled back to nab another one closer to the entrance. Before Malfoy could panic, Harry pulled him deeper into their stall. He snogged him while the water rushed over their tired bodies.

*

Harry began training with Malfoy again the next night. At half past ten, Harry sneaked from bed and met Malfoy on the dewy pitch. Harry’s heart leapt when he saw Malfoy, and his mouth went dry. He remembered what had happened in the showers the night before. He remembered and he was desperate to touch Malfoy again.

Harry tried to draw Malfoy into an embrace, his mouth already opening for a needy kiss, but Malfoy stopped him with a hard palm on his chest. “No,” Malfoy hissed. “This isn’t going to work if you paw at me.”

“Why not?” Harry smirked.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy said, “I thought you wanted to be the best? I didn’t ask you to train with me so we can snog.”

Harry grew somber. “I do want to be the best.”

Malfoy lifted his chin. “Then act like it.” He mounted his broom and took off into the air. Harry followed. “I need your help creating a large barrier. Large enough that we can both fly about but not collide.”

They created the barrier together, wands in one hand, the other hand guiding their brooms. Harry sneaked glances at Malfoy. He looked so delicious, so fit, that it felt like he was sneaking bites of rich cake. 

When the barrier was complete, Malfoy released a team of naughty Snitches. They flew chaotically, slamming into the barrier, escaping to the corners and the ground and the black, black sky above. Cold light spilled from floating balls, but it was still quite dark, and Harry had to squint to catch the dull glimmer of a retreating Snitch.

Malfoy pulled his goggles over his eyes and tightened his gloves. His mouth was pink and smirking when he said, “The one who catches the most Snitches wins. We start now.” He zoomed away while Harry was still putting on his gloves. Cursing, Harry snapped his gloves on and shot after him. 

Malfoy had gotten even even faster since they had last trained at night together. Harry bent forward, pressing his chest to the sleek wood shaft, urging his Firebolt to speed up.

The air was icy against Harry’s cheeks and the black night pressed on him from all sides. Malfoy was fucking with him by zigzagging, making sharp changes in direction, showing off. It was obvious he was trying to impress Harry, and Harry was impressed. He was also distracted. As Harry was thinking about eating his arse again, Malfoy caught the first Snitch and cried out in victory. 

_Get it together_ , Harry told himself sternly. He forced himself to stop watching Malfoy like a hawk. Generally, it was a good idea to know where the other Seeker was at all times, but this wasn’t a real match and Harry needed to train himself not let Malfoy distract him. Even when they were at Hogwarts, Malfoy had distracted him on the pitch.

Harry flew in the opposite direction of Malfoy. Malfoy was still making noise, still trying to sidetrack him, but Harry made himself focus. He squinted through the darkness, trying to pick out the littlest hint of fluttering gold. He saw the flash of a Snitch, down and to the right. He shot toward it, his arm automatically snapping into catching position, his fingers like pinchers. The Snitch dashed to the left, trying to escape, but Harry was a hungry wolf and the Snitch was a feeble rabbit. He caught it easily, the metal cold against his gloved palm. He didn’t celebrate; he didn’t make a sound. He pocketed the Snitch and zoomed off to catch another one.

After an hour, almost all the Snitches had been caught and Harry and Malfoy were tied. Malfoy was trailing Harry; he was throwing insults at him. Harry wiped the sweat from his face and carried on. The last Snitch had become one with the night. Harry was having such a difficult time spotting it he almost thought the barrier had a hole in it.

But then: a flash of gold, down, down. Harry shot toward it, the wind like icy fingers on his skin. He pushed his Firebolt hard, the shaft now biting painfully into his chest. He reached out but it slipped away. Cursing, he swerved around, sweat smearing his temples. He looked up and found Malfoy right in front of him. Malfoy had sat up on his broom and he had his cock out. He was _stroking_ himself. Harry lost his seat. His Firebolt jerked with him, trying to catch him. As Harry scrambled to heave himself back up, he saw out of the corner of his eye Malfoy dash away and catch the last bloody Snitch.

“You prick!” Harry bellowed once he reached the ground. He threw his Firebolt to the side and went after Malfoy. Malfoy smirked and waved the Snitch at him. Harry pushed him hard, so hard he stumbled and fell on his arse in the cold mud. Malfoy wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked enraged. He tried to jump up but Harry launched himself on him. They tumbled around, wrestling, the mud gooey and icy. Malfoy was the first one to throw a punch and Harry cursed and tried to knee him in the bollocks. 

Malfoy was stronger than Harry now. After some effort, he got Harry on his back, his hands pinned above his head. 

“I fucking _hate_ you,” Harry snarled, not meaning it, but hating, _hating_ that he had lost. 

“Shut up,” Malfoy said, teeth gritted. He yanked open their trousers with one hand, the other still pinning Harry’s wrists.

“Oh.” 

“Yes,” Malfoy panted. 

“Oh, God.”

Malfoy’s cock was burning hot and very stiff. His thighs were sweaty and still drumming with tension. He thrust, and light exploded behind Harry’s lids. _Oh, fuck._ Harry grabbed the hot globes of his arse, squeezing, kneading. He wanted to overpower Malfoy, get him on his stomach. He wanted to part his cheeks and eat him out so slowly the cheating git _cried_. 

They thrust together, _grinding_ , and Harry couldn’t look away from Malfoy’s face. His mouth hung open, his cheeks streaked with desperate red. He looked like he was unraveling. Harry wrestled an arm free and pulled him closer. He sucked Malfoy’s neck, tonguing and nibbling. Malfoy shuddered and his cock pulsed. Their cocks were so wet from their combined precome. 

“Kiss me,” Harry said. Their lips came together in an instant, like Malfoy was just waiting for permission. Malfoy kissed him hungrily, their teeth clicking. Their tongues battled and finally Harry submitted. He parted his lips and let Malfoy taste every inch of his mouth. 

Now with both of his hands free, Harry slipped a finger between Malfoy’s cheeks. He touched Malfoy’s hole, just brushed it with his fingertip, and Malfoy cried into his mouth and stiffened all over. Harry felt his come spurt between them, smearing on their groins, their thighs. Harry’s eyes rolled up. He was coming too. He was burning up with white hot pleasure. 

Harry was still gasping and shuddering when Malfoy sat back on his heels to watch him. He touched Harry’s cock and all the come now drying on it. His grey eyes were lidded, almost drowsy. He smiled softly. 

Harry reached out to touch him but Malfoy pushed his hand away. He bent down and licked the head of Harry’s softening prick, cleaning it. Harry moaned and thrust. He could easily get hard again; he felt it in his bollocks. Malfoy wrapped a hand around his cock and tugged. 

“Fuck,” Harry stuttered.

Malfoy looked more awake now. There was a strange, hot emotion in his eyes. He stroked Harry quickly, tugging, tugging. Harry arched up, shaking again. Like predicted, his cock went stiff. His erection came on slower now and it felt too soon, but the pleasure made his toes curl and his breath escape in a rush. 

Malfoy’s gaze ate him up. He switched between watching Harry’s face to watching his pale hand stroking Harry’s cock. Malfoy traced the veins in Harry’s shaft, and moaned quietly. “You’re so fucking big,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” Harry licked his lips.

“Yeah.”

He attempted to steady his voice. “What do you want to do to it?”

Malfoy closed his eyes and moaned again. His voice went almost inaudible. “I want to fuck it. I want it inside me.”

Harry threw his head back and orgasmed without warning. There wasn’t as much semen this time but Harry’s vision went black and he lost himself for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, Malfoy had buttoned himself up and climbed off him. Head buzzing, Harry scrambled to clean himself up and pull his pants and trousers on. He sat on the ground and watched Malfoy call the Snitches and lights back to him. 

“You’re a cheater,” Harry said loud enough for Malfoy to hear him. He was still weak from his two orgasms.

Malfoy shrugged without looking in his direction. “You’re not trying hard enough if you aren’t cheating.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not what cheating is about!”

Malfoy glanced at him, now grumpy. “Grow up, Potter. Professionals cheat all the time.”

“No, they don’t!”

“Haven’t you been listening to Hobbs? That’s all she’s been trying to teach us.”

“She’s been teaching us strategies, not cheating!”

Malfoy laughed and walked away. Harry didn’t understand how Malfoy could turn cold so quickly after their mindblowing sex. Harry still couldn’t feel his legs. 

“Have a good night!” Harry called after him. Malfoy ignored him.

*

Weeks passed in a blur. Harry continued to practise with Malfoy at night. They didn’t shag on the pitch again, which Harry was more than a little disappointed about. But Harry couldn’t deny that Malfoy made him better. He catalogued all of Malfoy’s flying tricks and techniques. He learned how Malfoy distracted other players, how he unnerved them. Malfoy wouldn’t be the only player to use distraction as a way to beat him so Harry used their practises as an opportunity to learn how to better ignore people on the other team. 

The weather grew colder, wetter, and the night snuffed out sunlight earlier and earlier in the evening. Harry now wore layers when practising, and he frequently had to cast warming charms on his gloved hands, his protected face. Malfoy was really getting on with Instructor Hobbs. Harry was so jealous he could _taste_ it. 

On one Friday in November, the winds howling around the pitch, the balding trees clutching the cold ground for dear life, Instructor Hobbs gathered the Seeker recruits around her. She pulled out an ordinary Snitch from her pocket. “Let’s have a bit of a competition today,” she said, grinning menacingly. The recruits perked up at the word _competition_. Harry’s heart was already beating faster.

When Instructor Hobbs let go of the Snitch, it dashed away at a speed Harry had never seen a Snitch reach. “Yes,” she said softly. “This Snitch is faster than anything you’ve ever dealt with previously. It’s more cunning, too. I’ve put a few charms on it, the kind of charms that are utterly illegal in a proper Quidditch match. But this is camp. Anything goes.”

“What are the rules?” Harry asked.

Instructor Hobbs showed him her jagged teeth. “There are no rules, Potter. First one to the Snitch wins. The competition begins now.”

The recruits pushed off the ground and soared into the howling winds. Harry’s teeth began to chatter. He tightened his hold on his broom and took a deep, calming breath. _Focus_ , he told himself sternly. He shot forward, slicing the grey sky, his eyes scanning every inch in front of him for a glimpse of gold. Malfoy dashed past him, a mere blur. Harry thought he looked too focussed for it to be a trick so he took off after Malfoy. The winds dampened both of their speeds but Harry managed to catch up to him. His heart sank; the Snitch was right in front of Malfoy’s nose and he was reaching out, already attempting to nab it. Without a second thought, Harry slammed into Malfoy, sending him spiraling off track. Harry glanced at him, taking his eyes off the Snitch for only a second, but it was enough time for the Snitch to disappear again. 

Malfoy cursed loudly at him, the wind stealing most of his words. Harry ignored him and zoomed away. 

Half an hour passed. A few other recruits got close to capturing the Snitch, but Instructor Hobbs was right: the thing was clever and quick, and it turned right when you were _sure_ it was going left. It was like it had a brain. Harry was slowing down, forcing himself to think. That was what all the instructors had said to him over the course of camp: Harry needed better strategy. He’d be a better player if he stopped and thought for a moment instead of charging head first into everything. Harry knew they were right. Of course they were. He _wasn’t_ good at thinking. In fact, he was pretty sure not thinking had saved his life during the war. Would he have ever defeated Voldemort if he’d allowed himself to contemplate the enormity of the task? Probably not. 

Then Harry saw the Snitch. He knew Malfoy was near so he didn’t speed directly at it. He came at it from the side, making a wide circle, keeping a steady speed. He drew closer and the Snitch didn’t dash away. Perhaps Harry would take it by surprise. 

Harry got close enough to capture the Snitch. He raised his arm, slowly, deliberately; but then something big and hard plowed into him. He lost his grip on his broom and plummeted groundward. He fumbled for his broom but instead his hands buried into the robes of the person who had hit him. Malfoy. Together they fell through the air; Malfoy still had a hold of his own broom, which helped soften the impact when they landed on the cold earth. 

“You prick! You bloody stupid—” Harry tried to punch Malfoy in the face but Malfoy blocked it with a sharp elbow that caught Harry in the teeth. 

Malfoy was on top of him. Harry was arching, trying to unseat him, trying to _hurt_ him. Instructor Hobbs was yelling at them. Harry heard her voice but couldn’t understand what she was saying. He could barely even see he was so angry. 

Suddenly Malfoy was very close to Harry’s face. He was so close their lips almost touched. “Are you free tonight, Potter?”

“W-what?”

“You remember where my flat is, don’t you?”

Harry blinked several times so he could see him clearly. “What are you saying?”

“Tonight. After dinner. I’ll expect you around eleven.” Malfoy rolled off him and gracefully stood. Harry’s back was caked in mud. His poor Firebolt had landed far away from him. He hoped none of its bristles had been damaged. 

“I caught the Snitch, Instructor.” Malfoy handed the Snitch to Instructor Hobbs.

“Very good, Draco!” She sounded delighted. “And that was a marvelous defensive move you pulled up there.”

“Thank you, Instructor.” Malfoy smiled with all his teeth.

Groaning, Harry fell back onto the muddy ground. He glared up at the grey sky before remembering that he most likely had a terrific night of sex ahead of him. Malfoy wouldn’t invite him over for any other reason. A little thrill shot through him.

*

That night, Harry wore his nicest jumper to Malfoy’s flat. He also tried to apply some magical product to his hair but it didn’t do anything to tame it. He even polished his favourite watch. Maybe, just maybe, his attire would impress Malfoy. 

Malfoy looked stunning when he answered his door. Harry gaped at him for a moment, unable to move from the corridor into his flat. Malfoy wore a crisp blue shirt that made his eyes look like the same colour as a spring sky. His trousers were practically glued to his skin, and they showed off the shapely muscles in his thighs and arse. He left a bit of blond fringe to fall into his eyes but the rest of his hair was expertly styled in a clean sweep away from his face. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Harry heard himself say. 

Malfoy went pink. Harry was mesmerised. He’d made Malfoy blush, and he _loved_ it. Malfoy pulled him into the flat and slammed the door shut. He crowded Harry against the door, his fist twisting the front of his jump. Harry expected to be kissed but Malfoy just breathed heavily in his face. His breath smelled like beer and peppermint. 

“Hi,” Harry said. 

“I want you to fuck me tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_.” Malfoy’s eyes were glittering with a challenge that Harry didn’t understand. 

“I — I like that idea.”

Malfoy’s fist tightened its hold. “It’s not going to change anything, do you understand? You’re going to fuck me, then leave. On Monday we will attend practise as if absolutely nothing happened. _Do you understand_?”

Harry was breathless; he was already growing hard. Still he had to question Malfoy. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” Malfoy bared his teeth. 

“You don’t look like you’re sure. In fact, you look like I’m forcing you.”

Malfoy pushed him harder into the door. He let go of Harry’s jumper to frame his face with both hands. “For once in your stupid heroic life, will you just shut up?”

“You keep telling me to shut up. Why, Malfoy?”

Malfoy kissed him hard, his lips hot and insistent. Harry threw his arms around him, needing an anchor. His cock leapt inside his trousers. 

Malfoy rolled his hips. “You want me, I can feel it.”

“Of course I want it. You’re the hottest bloke I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Malfoy dropped to his knees. He tugged on Harry’s belt. “Get your clothes off. I want to see you. I want to see your enormous prick.” 

“Draco.”

“No, Potter.” Malfoy glared up at him. “If you call me Draco again, I’m not sucking your cock. I won’t do anything other than kick your arse out of my flat.”

Harry touched Malfoy's soft styled hair. He didn’t understand the anger radiating off Malfoy. He also didn’t under his urgency. “We don’t need to shag tonight,” Harry said weakly. “We can just talk … or watch telly.”

Malfoy laughed lowly. He had somehow got Harry’s underpants and trousers down to his knees. Then his mouth was on Harry, and Harry’s head thudded back on the door. Malfoy sucked hard, his mouth sinfully wet. There was a neediness to the stroking of his tongue; his hands trembled a little as he gently rolled Harry’s bollocks. Harry struggled to remain standing. 

“Please,” he whispered. Malfoy sucked harder. Harry grabbed his head, wanting to stop him, wanting to choke him. He felt captured.

Malfoy was moaning. He looked enraptured, like he couldn’t believe his luck. His eyes were half-open and glazed-over. Harry saw how red his lips were, how they struggled to wrap around the girth of his cock. 

An alarm screeched in his kitchenette. They both jerked at the sound. “What is that horrid noise?” Malfoy said.

“Your smoke detector.” Harry sniffed the air. “It smells like something’s burning. Are you cooking?”

“Oh, hell.” Malfoy dashed to his kitchenette, leaving Harry with his straining cock out. Harry did his best to tuck himself back into his trousers and hobbled through the lounge. 

Malfoy was coughing as he took out something blackened from his tiny oven, a bellow of smoke engulfing the little room. Harry cast _Evanesco_ a few times to clear the air. “What is it supposed to be?” he said, leaning over Malfoy’s shoulder. 

Malfoy groaned. “It’s one of those stupid Muggle frozen pizzas.” He pointed angrily to the box on the counter. It was a Dr. Oetker’s Ristorante Pizza Speciale. Harry howled with laughter. “I made it for you, you ungrateful _clod_.” This just made Harry laugh even more. 

“I didn’t know you ate Muggle food,” he wheezed. 

“I told you the appliances hate me!”

Harry shouldered him out of the way. He poked through all the burnt pieces to find a bit of pepperoni that was only a little charred. “Very sweet of you to cook for me, Malfoy. I didn’t expect it.”

Malfoy put his nose in the air. “You’re a guest in my home. Mother would’ve hexed me if I hadn’t offered you something to eat.”

“You didn’t offer me food last time.”

“Last time was different.”

“I see. A bloke’s gotta be invited over for a proper shag before you offer him dinner.”

“Yes.” Malfoy had gone pink again. 

“Come here,” Harry said, and pulled him into his arms before he could object. He dropped little affectionate kisses along Malfoy’s jaw, up to his temple. “I like you so much, Malfoy.” 

“No, you don’t. You just like the way I suck your cock.”

“I also like how you let me eat your arse in the public showers.”

“Those showers aren’t _public_.”

“Close enough. We were almost found out.”

“ _Almost_ , Potter. That’s what counts.”

“You know what else counts? How this shirt makes your eyes look like the sky.”

“An English sky looks like shit most of the time. That’s not a compliment.”

“I’m talking about on a clear spring day. A blue warming up after a long winter.”

“Is this how you got Chang and Weasley to fancy you? Waxing poetic like a silly girl?”

“Well, they’re both into girls now, so you might be onto something.”

Malfoy jerked back, looking scandalised. “I knew all those Harpies were feasting on cunt in their locker rooms!”

“You sound excited. Do you think about girls eating cunt a lot, Malfoy?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds like a good time.”

Malfoy hid his face. “Perhaps.”

 _He’s being vulnerable with me_ , Harry thought with a thrill. Harry caressed his soft cheek with his finger. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

“You already know what I want.” Malfoy’s face was still hidden, his voice muffled by Harry’s shoulder. 

Gently, Harry raised his face so he could meet Malfoy’s gaze. “You want me to make love to you.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Potter. Just call it what it is: fucking. I want you to fuck me.”

Harry gulped. “You should know something. I haven’t shagged a bloke yet. Properly, I mean.”

“What?”

“I’m not a virgin. Last summer, Ginny and I—”

“Stop. I don’t want to know.” Malfoy blinked several times. “You’ve never shagged a bloke but you think nothing of rimming me in a public stall?”

“You said it wasn’t public.”

Malfoy snapped his mouth shut. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I still want you to bugger me.”

Hesitating, he said, “What about you? Have you ... properly shagged blokes?”

“Of course I have!”

“Loads? Or just a few?”

Malfoy’s expression shuttered. “That’s none of your business, Potter.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Look here, Potter. This isn’t going to work if you get _attached_. Shagging me doesn’t mean that we are … dating. It doesn’t mean we’re _exclusive_.”

“I see.”

“Do you not like thinking of other blokes fucking me?” Malfoy’s expression had turned a bit hungry. 

“Why are you asking if it doesn’t matter?”

“Because I’m a narcissist. I want people to want me. Surely you already knew this?”

“I don’t think you’re a narcissist. I think you’re lonely.”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy tried to move away but Harry pulled him closer. 

“I’m lonely too. Camp is hell. I miss Hermione and Ron. I miss Hogwarts.”

“I don’t miss Hogwarts,” Malfoy said softly. 

“You saw it at its worst.”

“So did you.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t like I lived with it for months.”

“I don’t believe in hell, but if I did, I’d hope those Carrows are burning in it.”

“It was that bad?” Harry said.

“It was a nightmare.” Malfoy shook himself. “This is terrible bedroom talk. Trauma is never sexy.”

 _That’s a good word for it_ , Harry thought. _Trauma._

Malfoy took Harry’s hand and pulled him away from the kitchenette. “Let’s go to my bedroom.”

The hallway connecting his lounge to his bedroom was only a few steps long. Inside the doorway, Malfoy waved his wand and a few candles burst to life on his bedside table. Shadows played against the old walls. 

His bedroom was neat and small, with furniture from a charity shop and a wardrobe bulging open with countless garments. Malfoy’s broom was propped up in the corner next to his bed, his gloves and goggles dangling from it like jewellery. 

Malfoy pressed Harry onto the bed and crawled on top of him. Harry’s thighs fell open. 

“I thought you wanted me to top,” Harry said. 

“We’re getting to it. First, I want you to take off all your clothes.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and started by removing his glasses.

“No, keep those on.”

Harry raised his eyebrows but left the glasses. He kicked off his boots. He tugged off his jumper and wiggled out of his trousers and underpants. When he was starkers, he lay back against Malfoy’s pillows, a touch embarrassed. 

Malfoy just stared at him for a long moment. He did that a lot when Harry was naked. Harry’s cock jerked. Malfoy wrapped both hands around his shaft. He stroked, and they both watched as his head emerged from his foreskin. 

“You’re so big I need both hands to stroke you properly,” Malfoy said. 

“Stop exaggerating,” Harry said, twisting. “One hand works just fine, trust me.”

“I want to establish some ground rules,” Malfoy said, still stroking him. 

“You’re the last person who should be talking about rules.”

Malfoy’s hands paused and Harry grunted and lifted his hips. “I won’t let you fuck my tight, wet arse if you don’t listen to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malfoy showed his teeth. “First, when you’re inside me, I don’t want you to touch my cock unless I tell you.”

“Why?”

Malfoy shook his head. “Second, when you’re inside me, I don’t want you to make eye contact with me.”

“ _What_?”

“You heard me.”

“I guess that means you want me to bugger you from behind?”

Malfoy bit his lip. “No … I want to see you. But don’t try to gaze into my eyes as if you’re mooning over me or something. I don’t want it.”

“Okay.”

“Third and final, when you’re inside me, I don’t want you to kiss me.”

“Anywhere? Or just on the mouth?”

“No kissing on the mouth.”

Harry was disappointed. “I understand. Are you sure that’s all?”

Malfoy looked uncertain. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Right,” Malfoy said awkwardly. He rolled onto his back and pulled Harry on top of him. “You may proceed.”

“Err.”

“Don’t overthink it, Potter. I’m not breakable.”

“Definitely not.” Harry ran his hand over Malfoy’s muscled stomach. “Take off your clothes, will you?”

Sighing as if Harry was asking the world of him, Malfoy waved his wand and his clothes disappeared. Harry was used to magic, of course he was, but suddenly seeing and feeling Malfoy naked beneath him made him gasp. 

“Can I kiss you now? Before I’m — you know.”

“You’re making it awkward, Potter.”

“Sorry.” Harry brushed his lips against Malfoy’s. Malfoy’s mouth dropped open and Harry kissed him deeper. He stroked Malfoy’s tongue with his, really tasting the beer and peppermint now. Malfoy moaned.

Harry slid his hand over Malfoy’s broad shoulders, down his broad chest, feeling only a few small scars. He was glad there were only a few scars.

Harry was bulking up, too, but Malfoy’s muscles were more special. His body was long and elegant; he was meant to be lithe and willowy. With the addition of the muscles, his body now looked like it belonged to a god, to someone otherworldly. Harry was more than a little smitten. 

Harry licked and nibbled his pink nipples, making them pebble. Malfoy squirmed and his breath stuttered. He liked having his tits sucked, Harry could tell by the way his cock jerked against his hip. 

Kissing down his stomach, Harry stopped to sample his navel. Malfoy trembled against his mouth. 

“Get on with it,” Malfoy growled. “I’m not some girl you’re deflowering.”

“I don’t think you are.” Harry’s mouth went lower, ghosting over Malfoy’s velvety-soft pelvis, the delicate skin of his inner thigh. Malfoy’s thighs were lightly furred with a blond that was darker than the hair on his head. Harry lifted his long leg so he could kiss and bite down his thigh to his knee, then back up again.

“Merlin, _fuck_. Stop that.” Malfoy clawed his hand off his thigh and urged it lower, beneath his bollocks. “Here, Potter. I want your hand _here_.” He pressed Harry’s fingers to his arsehole, his _wet_ arsehole. 

Harry gasped. “Did you—?”

Malfoy laughed. “Did you really expect me to take your monster cock _without_ prep? I’d like to have some semblance of an arsehole when this is over.”

“Jesus, Malfoy.” Harry had to press his forehead to his shoulder and take a deep breath. All this talk of monster cocks was making him dizzy. “Of course I expected prep; I just wanted to be the one to do it.”

“No way. You’d probably want to gently finger me for hours and hours as you snog my kneecaps. I have things to do, Potter.”

“Snogging your kneecaps does sound nice.” Harry lifted his leg again and wrapped his mouth over the nub on his knee, biting playfully. Harry really did want to taste him everywhere. 

“I knew you were a deviant.” Malfoy yanked his leg away. “Kneecaps? Really, Potter?”

Harry shrugged and grinned down at him. “Don’t try me, or it will be your fingers next.”

Malfoy hesitated; then he offered Harry his hand. Harry stared into his eyes as he took his fingers deep into his mouth. Malfoy looked away. 

Maybe Malfoy was onto something. Harry stroked himself as he sucked on his elegant fingers. They had a few calluses but they were long and tapered, and nothing liked Harry’s brutish hands. 

Malfoy whimpered and raised his hips. Harry took pity on him and released his hand. He wrapped his broad fist around Malfoy’s cock and stroked. He didn’t think Malfoy’s cock was small but it was a lot thinner than his own. Harry thought it looked nicer, too. He liked how Malfoy’s bollocks were tight, neat; they didn’t hang down like his and get in the way. 

“Stop _examining_ me,” Malfoy said.

Harry huffed a laugh. “Your cock is just so nice, I can’t help it. I’m sure it never has a problem staying in your underpants.”

“Don’t you dare call me small. Everybody’s small compared to you.”

Harry slid down so his head was between Malfoy’s legs. He fit as much of Malfoy’s bollocks into his mouth as he could. Malfoy groaned. Then Harry licked up his flushed shaft. He spent some time kissing and licking his pretty head, savouring every drop of his precome. 

Malfoy moaned deep in his throat. “I feel like a lolly.”

“You taste like one, too.” Harry took him into his mouth, swirling his tongue. 

“ _Stop_ ,” Malfoy gasped, and pushed Harry’s head away. “It’s too much — I can’t—”

“Yes, all right.”

Malfoy looked angry now. He forced Harry’s hand to his arse again. “I told you I want you to fuck me. Now get on with it.”

Harry gulped. “Okay.” He wanted to pet Malfoy’s hole, maybe taste it again, but he knew Malfoy wouldn’t like it. He pushed a finger inside, his mouth dropping open. Malfoy was wet, so wet, and he was _stretched_. “God.”

“Put your prick in me. I’m ready.”

“Just — wait a second.” Harry moved his finger in and out, loving how Malfoy clutched him. 

Malfoy squirmed. “Now, Potter.”

Harry withdrew his finger. He touched his wand to the tip of his cock and cast a lube spell. Then he spread the slick all along his shaft. He got into position, his cock pressed to Malfoy’s hole. Harry looked into his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Remember the rules!” Malfoy turned his face away. 

“Yes, sorry,” Harry said, even though he wasn’t inside Malfoy yet. He thrust forward, a hand around his shaft to guide himself. He pushed through the tight ring of muscle with some effort. Malfoy came off the bed with a cry. “Oh fucking god,” Harry gasped, panicked. 

“Don’t stop!”

“Christ, Malfoy.” Harry couldn’t see, his glasses sliding down his nose. Malfoy was so tight it stole his breath. Only his head was inside. 

Malfoy twisted beneath him, a hand on his chest. “Fucking move or I’m going to murder you.”

“Okay, okay.” Harry thrust deeper; he felt how Malfoy’s arse resisted him, how it tried to push him out. Harry stopped, panting for breath.

Malfoy was trembling. Harry didn’t look at his face but he saw how his chest was streaked with red. Harry worked in deeper, now halfway inside, and Malfoy cried out. He sounded like he was being ripped open. 

“I’m hurting you!” 

“I don’t care.”

“I fucking care.” Harry tried to pull out but Malfoy’s strong thighs clamped around him. 

Malfoy smoothed his hand up to Harry’s neck, caressing. He said softly, “I want it to hurt.”

“I can’t, Malfoy. I just - _Christ_.” Harry was shaking; he was shaking and all his hips wanted to do was slam home. Gritting his teeth, he pushed inside more, forcing Malfoy’s flesh to yield. 

Malfoy clung to him desperately, his hands like claws. He pressed against Harry as if he was trying to escape. He panted like someone in terrible pain. “Fuck me,” he murmured, twisting again. “ _Fuck me._ ”

Harry pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in. The slide was easier this time but Malfoy clammed up. “You need to relax,” Harry said, his voice high. 

“I fucking know, Potter.” Malfoy blew out air loudly. His arse loosened its death grip around Harry’s cock, just a little. 

“Okay, okay,” Harry said again, attempting to steady himself. His bollocks already throbbed with the need to release their load. He pressed his open mouth to Malfoy’s shoulder and started fucking him in earnest. 

_This is dangerous_ , he thought. He was losing himself and losing the ability to pay attention to Malfoy. He could let go; he could let go and fuck and fuck as hard as his cock wanted, and Malfoy would become a hole, just a hole he could ruin. A cock of his size had no business being in something so small. Still, he thrust harder, faster.

“ _Harry_ ,” Malfoy gasped, and he pulled Harry down into a kiss. Harry gasped against his mouth, not expecting it. “Harry,” he said again, quieter this time. Harry swallowed his name. He kissed Malfoy desperately, his hips still thrusting. He opened his eyes, their gazes connecting. Malfoy was crying. He was crying and Harry had no idea why. 

Reading his thoughts, Malfoy said, “Please don’t stop. _Please._ ”

“I’m going to come,” Harry said, his lips still pressed to Malfoy’s. He needed air but he didn’t want to stop kissing him. 

“Harry,” Malfoy cried. 

Harry reached down, unable to stop himself. Malfoy was still stiff, so stiff. Harry stroked once, and Malfoy yelled and erupted. His orgasm made him clamp around Harry’s cock, and Harry lost control, thrusting hard, his hand squeezing Malfoy’s cock in an anchoring hold. He was coming, filling Malfoy’s arse. The pleasure was overpowering, almost frightening. He couldn’t stop the pounding of his hips, his knees slipping sweatily against the sheets. He heard himself grunting, growling. He heard himself whimper _Draco_ again and again. 

Finally, Harry stopped thrusting. He pulled out and collapsed on top of Malfoy. He fell asleep, not caring if he was crushing him. The day had been long, so long, and Harry was so knackered from practise and their brilliant shag, his first time inside a man. He woke up to Malfoy shoving at him. “Get _off_ ,” Malfoy said. Groaning, Harry rolled onto his side. He pulled Malfoy to him, Malfoy’s back to his chest.

“That was brilliant,” Harry sighed. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

Harry tried to make eye contact but Malfoy averted his face. “Are you sure? I wasn’t gentle. I should have been.”

“You did exactly what I wanted.” 

Harry reached down and dipped two fingers into the mess they made between Malfoy’s cheeks. He inspected his fingers for blood and was relieved when he didn’t see any. “I know some healing spells if you need them.” 

“I know healing spells, too. I’m not an idiot.” 

“All right,” Harry said easily. He buried his nose in Malfoy’s now messy hair, breathing him in. He closed his eyes. “Why did you cry?” Harry asked softly.

It took Malfoy a long time to answer, so long that Harry was sure he wouldn’t. “Because for once I didn’t feel like utter shit.” Harry began to respond but Malfoy rolled away from him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry pulled him back to his chest. “That’s fine but I still want to hold you.”

“No more talking.” Malfoy snuggled closer, and Harry rested his chin on the top of his head. His shampoo smelled like cucumbers. 

They dozed together for an hour or so. Malfoy’s breathing deepened and he even snored a little. Harry listened to the village sounds outside Malfoy’s flat. There was a car park just outside his window. 

“Why do you want to be a professional Quidditch player?” Malfoy asked suddenly. “You already have fame and fortune.”

Harry frowned sleepily. “Because … I feel like myself when I’m on a broom. Also, being a good athlete is all about statistics, isn’t it? Nobody can say that I succeeded because of who I am. My stats will speak for themselves.”

“You were given the initial opportunity because of who you are.”

“You are right.”

Malfoy was silent for a moment. “You are quite good, Potter. You always have been.”

“What about you? Why do you want it?”

“I want it because I know I can be better than everyone else. I just need a chance, just one chance.”

“Which team do you want to play for?”

“Any of them.”

“Yes, but if you had a choice. Which one do you fantasise about?”

“Puddlemere,” Malfoy whispered.

Harry tightened his arms around him. “It will happen for you, Malfoy. I believe in you.”

“I’m glad someone does.”

“What about your mum?” His father was serving a life sentence in Azkaban but Harry didn’t bring him up.

“What about her?”

“I’m sure she believes in you.”

“Mother is too busy hiding in France. She doesn’t like that I’m here. She wants me to be by her side. She wants me to marry Astoria Greengrass.”

Harry’s throat tightened. “Will you?”

“Merlin, no.” Malfoy shuddered. 

“Because she’s a girl?”

“Because I don’t want to marry anyone.”

“What if she joined the Harpies, and, you know, started _feasting_?”

Malfoy twisted around to look up at Harry’s face. “Oh, you’re having a laugh. I wanted to make sure.”

Harry cradled Malfoy’s face in his palm. He now felt a bit of Malfoy’s stubble. He stared into Malfoy’s eyes but Malfoy was hiding so much from him. “I want to do this again.”

“Of course you do.”

“What about you? Would you like to shag again?”

“Not right now. I like my arse being in one piece.”

“Jesus, Malfoy. I mean on another day. Perhaps next Friday?”

Malfoy pushed away. He left the bed to find where his clothes had reappeared. “I can’t next Friday. I’m shagging another bloke.”

Harry bolted up. “Are you serious?”

“I told you not to get attached.” Malfoy put his back to him while he pulled on his underpants and trousers. He took his time buttoning up his blue shirt. 

Harry scrambled from bed. He pulled Malfoy into his arms. “Are you really shagging another bloke?”

“I lied. I’m actually shagging a woman. Two of them, in fact. They are both raging lesbians.”

“Stop it, Malfoy. I want to know. Is it Flint?”

Malfoy shoved him hard. “What I do with Flint is none of your concern.”

Harry’s stomach plummeted. “So you are shagging him. Malfoy - you must know you needn’t do it.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m some victim.”

“I don’t think you’re a victim!”

“Oh, yes you do! It’s why you harassed Weasley to take pity on me. It’s why you wouldn’t leave Flint alone either. I bet you don’t even see me as a real person, just another damsel in distress you can save so you can feel like the hero again.”

Harry took a deep breath. “All right, Malfoy. I get the point. I’ll stop trying to meddle.”

“Good, because if you do it again, I will hate you for the rest of my life.” Malfoy’s teeth were gritted. He meant what he said. 

“Okay.”

Malfoy pulled Harry into an embrace. He brushed his lips against Harry’s. “Now get the hell out of my flat.”

*

Camp felt different after Harry and Malfoy shagged. Tensions were high. November was coming to a close, which meant there was only a month left before Signing Day when coaches from around the world showed up in Cannock Forest to offer contracts to the recruits. 

Harry kept his many promises to Malfoy and didn’t look at him during practise. He also forced himself not to hex Flint every time the bastard went near him. He struggled not to imagine Flint and Malfoy together. It made for a disgusting picture in his head. Flint looked like a troll and his prick probably smelled rotten. _Maybe Malfoy fancies him_ , Harry thought, torturing himself. But deep down inside he knew that wasn’t true. 

For the next couple of weeks, Malfoy completely ignored him again. At first, it frustrated Harry to no end, especially when Malfoy stopped showing up to their nightly one-on-one practises. But there was just so much work to still be done, so much to still learn from Wood and Charlie and Hobbs, that Harry threw himself into training and was able to stop obsessing over Malfoy, at least during the daylight hours. 

Then came the day when Puddlemere United Coach Phineas Trout called Harry into his office. Charlie and Wood were also present.

Harry blinked at them, not understanding. Trout grinned widely, looking a bit touched in the head. “ _Harry_ ,” he said oilily. “Please take a seat, my boy.”

Harry took the offered seat. Charlie and Wood were smiling from ear to ear. 

“Would you like some tea?” Trout said, motioning to a golden tea trolley.

“No, thank you.” The trolley made Harry think of how Malfoy poured the recruits’ tea at the beginning of camp. He’d come so far in just a couple of months. 

Trout sipped at his own tea. He smacked his lips. “Right. Let’s get straight to the point. Puddlemere wants you as our Seeker, Harry.” He paused to let what he said soak in.

Harry blinked again. “Oh.” He felt two intense conflicting emotions. He was thrilled that a professional team wanted him, but he also knew Malfoy fantasised about playing for Puddlemere. 

Trout watched him avidly. When Harry didn’t immediately celebrate, his gaze turned a bit predatory. He slid a thick stack of parchment to Harry. “Of course we are offering you a sizable signing bonus. I’ll let you know that we didn’t even offer Krum that much, even after he almost won the World Cup.”

“Oh,” Harry said dumbly. He licked his lips. “But I’m not the best Seeker here. Everybody knows that.”

“Harry,” Charlie said in warning. 

Harry looked at Charlie and Wood, then at Trout. Wood was rapidly turning purple. “It’s true! I’m not the best Seeker at this camp. We all know that’s Malf—”

“Please, Harry,” Charlie interrupted. 

“You have _potential_ ,” Trout said. “That’s what matters.”

“Everybody at this camp has potential!” Harry just wanted to hear Trout say the real reason why Puddlemere wanted to sign him. Everyone in the room already knew it.

“Don’t look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth,” Wood said, still purple. 

“Listen, Harry,” Trout said, sounding unfriendly. “You have star power. That’s what Puddlemere wants. Anybody can learn how to catch a Snitch; not everyone can fill seats like you can. The Puddlemere organisation is looking for someone with the potential to be the biggest Quidditch star in the world. We think you are that person.”

Harry’s mouth had gone bone dry. He regretted turning down that tea. “Let me think about it,” he croaked. 

Trout smiled at him, showing all his teeth. “Of course, Harry. That’s why I approached you so early. Other teams will want you as well; just know none of them can offer you what Puddlemere can. We have twenty-four training facilities throughout the UK and the continent. We even have a facility right outside New York City. That’s America, Harry. You want to be a star in America, don’t you?”

“Err,” Harry said. 

“There’s nothing better than American endorsements,” Charlie said quietly. 

“I just want to play Quidditch. I don’t care about being a star … or endorsements.” Harry imagined being the centrefold in _Witch Weekly_ , and grimaced. 

“You have until after the Christmas holidays to make your decision,” Trout said. “I’ll let you keep that contract to look over, but keep in mind that what’s stated in there is strictly confidential. You’ll hear from Puddlemere’s legal counsel if you share the details of that contract with anyone else, especially with another team. Since we’re on the subject, I want to know if any team makes an offer to you as well. Got it?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Trout smiled unpleasantly again. “It’s the right thing to do, Harry. And if by some miracle another team offers you more money just know that Puddlemere will top it, no matter how much.” 

“Okay,” Harry said, his mind racing. 

Charlie clapped him on the back. “This is _brilliant_ , Harry. We can tell you’re still in a bit of shock, but you don’t need to worry. You have loads of time to make up your mind.”

“Yes,” Trout added with some effort. Wood was smiling again. 

Harry didn’t want to let Charlie and Wood down, so he smiled too and said, “Yes, thank you for the opportunity. I’m afraid I am in shock but I — I know what a good team Puddlemere is and I won’t take the offer lightly.”

“Very good, Harry,” Trout said.

*

The next time Harry was alone with Malfoy was on Christmas Eve. Needless to say, Harry was stunned when Malfoy asked him around. Malfoy had barely acknowledged his existence since they shagged. But it was the holidays and Harry was lonely for the Weasleys and the Burrow. Most of the recruits had decided to stay at camp for Christmas since it was so close to Signing Day and no one wanted to lose focus. 

Before venturing to Malfoy’s flat, Harry popped over to the nearest magical shop to get him a gift. The clerk behind the counter recognised Harry and wrapped the present for him free of charge. 

Now Harry stood in front of Malfoy’s flat, the present under his arm. Harry was nervous. He was excited. He wanted to touch Malfoy. He wanted to suck his cock. He really, really wanted to make him laugh. 

Harry took a deep breath and knocked. Malfoy answered almost immediately. He looked incredible. He wore an emerald jumper and grey trousers. His hair was perfectly coiffed again. His cologne reached for Harry teasingly. 

“You’re staring.”

“Yeah, I am,” Harry said.

Malfoy smiled shyly. “Won’t you come in?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

Malfoy guided Harry into his lounge. He’d decorated it for Christmas. Little snowflakes fell from the ceiling, disappearing before they made contact with the furniture. There was an enormous tree pushed into a corner, overflowing with fairy lights and magical ornaments. A tray of Christmas drinks waited for them on the coffee table. 

“Please sit down,” Malfoy said formally. Harry sat down on the sofa, feeling awkward. Malfoy guided a drink into his hand with his wand. “It’s a mint martini. Try it. Quite divine.”

Harry tasted some of the green drink. His eyes lit up. “Wow.”

Malfoy watched him avidly. “Quite divine, right?”

“Yes.” Harry sucked some cream off his top lip. “Divine.” He didn’t think he’d ever described anything as _divine_. 

“I also made dinner — the _Muggle way_ ,” Malfoy said proudly.

“Another frozen pizza then?”

“Oh, no. I could never serve anything so pedestrian on Christmas.”

“Pedestrian?”

“I made a roast — and managed not to burn it!” Malfoy looked so happy that Harry smiled, too. 

“I’m glad that I didn’t eat before coming over.” Harry set the present on the table next to the tray.

“For me?” Malfoy’s eyes brightened. “ _You shouldn’t have_.”

“Open it.”

Harry sat back on the sofa as Malfoy snatched up the present. Malfoy stared at it hungrily. “I miss opening presents. Mother and Father always bought me loads for Christmas.”

“Did your mum send you anything this year?”

Malfoy’s face darkened a little. “She attempted to send me some heirlooms but the Ministry nicked them at the border. Terribly unfortunate.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, even though he wasn’t opposed to the Malfoys paying reparations. 

Malfoy ripped open the wrapping paper violently. He stared at the cookbook, frowning. “ _Taming Your Toaster: One Hundred Ways to Use Your Muggle Appliances and Survive_.” As he flipped through the book, his expression grew excited. “There’s so many recipes in here!”

“I thought you’d enjoy it, especially after the pizza fiasco.”

“It wasn’t a _fiasco_.” Malfoy looked up at him, and some warm emotion shined in his eyes. “Thank you, Potter.”

“Call me Harry, will you?”

“No.” Malfoy carefully set the cookbook aside. He retrieved a present from under the tree and handed it to Harry. “This is for you.”

“Oh.” He gulped. “I didn’t expect you to care enough to get me anything.”

Malfoy shrugged. He looked so damn elegant, reclining on his sad old sofa. Harry carefully opened the present, ignoring that it was wrapped in silver and green. Inside was a wooden box, shiny with lacquer. It was empty but lined with soft red velvet. 

“It’s for your watch,” Malfoy said quietly. 

“My watch?” Harry lifted his wrist. He wore the watch the Weasleys gave him. It was one of his most prized possessions. 

“I’ve noticed that you wear it a lot. I thought perhaps you would want to protect it. The box has a lot of protection charms on it. None of them are Dark magic, in case you were worried.”

Harry cleared his tightening throat. Emotion churned in him, strong, intense. He carefully set the box on the table. “I had no idea you noticed.”

Malfoy looked away. “I notice a lot about you. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes.” Harry scooted closer on the sofa. He took Malfoy’s face between his hands. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

Malfoy nodded wordlessly. He was holding his breath. Harry brushed his lips against Malfoy’s, and they both tasted like mint. Wrapping his arms around Malfoy, Harry went in for a second taste. Malfoy melted against him. 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. 

“Shut up,” Malfoy said, just as quiet.

Harry’s mouth curled. “There you go again. Telling me to shut up.”

Malfoy buried his hands in Harry’s jumper, tugging him even closer. “ _Shut up_.”

Harry kissed down his long, warm neck. Malfoy had missed a section when shaving, and the skin right beneath his jaw was rough. He slid a hand under Malfoy’s clothes, feeling his smooth, burning skin. His stomach, hard with muscle, trembled under Harry’s fingertips. Harry’s cock surged in his trousers. 

“I want to shag you,” Harry murmured. 

“The roast,” Malfoy insisted. 

“After, I promise. I want to be inside you.”

Malfoy ripped away from him. “Merlin, I hate when you say things.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and urged him onto the floor in front of the enormous Christmas tree.

“Here?”

Malfoy lifted his chin. “I want a proper Christmas fuck. If you have a problem with it, you can get out.”

“Jesus, Malfoy.”

Malfoy pushed him onto his back and crawled on top of him. “I mean it. There’s loads of blokes I can Floo to replace you. They would drop everything, too. Be over here in _minutes_.”

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s waist possessively. He flipped them over, their legs entangling. “Now it’s your turn to shut up.”

“Why?” Malfoy’s smirk was fierce. “Because you’re jealous?”

Harry kissed him desperately. Malfoy moaned so deeply Harry felt it in his own chest. Harry scrambled to get their clothes off. Malfoy pushed his hands away. “I’ll do it, you barbarian.”

“Damn you, hurry up,” Harry said. Malfoy removed his jumper and Harry’s mouth latched onto one of his pink nipples. Malfoy hissed and arched into his mouth. Harry sucked greedily, worrying the nipple. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Gasping, Malfoy fumbled with his trousers. Harry let him undo his own belt but then he was there, yanking at Malfoy’s zip. Malfoy tried to stop him but Harry grabbed his wrists. 

“Let me do it,” he growled. 

“Don’t tear the fabric.”

Harry ignored him. He shoved his trousers and underpants down, revealing Malfoy’s half-hard cock. Harry caught his breath. He didn’t think he’d ever get over seeing Malfoy starkers. 

“Suck it,” Malfoy said, his hands burying in Harry’s hair. “Take it into your mouth. Get it wet.”

“In a minute.” Harry wrapped his hand around Malfoy. Malfoy quickly stiffened in his palm. He stroked, feeling his velvety shaft, his foreskin easing down and revealing Malfoy’s pink head. Harry went to his elbows, finding a comfortable spot. He took Malfoy’s head into his mouth, nursing oh so gently. Malfoy swore and tugged his hair. 

“Take it down,” Malfoy said, breathless. “Take it all the way down.”

Harry pushed back on his hands. He did the opposite of what Malfoy said. He licked his cockhead slowly, teasing him. Precome bubbled needily from his slit, and Harry lapped it up. 

Harry left his cock to kiss and nip his strong, pale thighs. Malfoy cursed loudly. He thrust. He took Harry’s hand and put it back on his cock, but Harry only tightened his fist a little. He forced Malfoy to thrust and thrust, needing more contact. 

“I hate you,” Malfoy groaned. 

“Turn over,” Harry said roughly. Malfoy scrambled onto his front. Harry sat up a little to caress his hands down his long back. Muscle roped his lithe back and it all tapered down to an almost delicate waist. Harry grabbed his waist, squeezing, holding him like a girl. Malfoy liked this. He pushed back with a gasp, needing more. Smirking, Harry lowered himself again and took his time to drop little kisses over his firm arse.

“Not this again.” Malfoy pushed against his face. “Stop trying to make love to me.”

“No.” Harry parted his cheeks. He expected to find Malfoy already wet, already stretched, but he wasn’t and a thrill shot through Harry. He kissed everywhere except Malfoy’s hole, delicate and tender. He _was_ making love to Malfoy, or at least he was doing everything an eighteen year old could do to make love. It was very hard not to doubt himself. 

“I hate you,” Malfoy said again, writhing. “I fucking hate you, Potter.” He punched the floor and buried his face in his arms. “Damn you,” he said more softly. 

“I like you very much.” Harry finally put his mouth on Malfoy’s hole. He sucked hungrily and Malfoy jerked and nearly knocked him in the face with his elbow. He’d kept his glasses on again. 

“Yes, you gorgeous bastard. Like _that_.”

Harry came up, and Malfoy swore loudly. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

“Fuck you!”

Harry circled his wet hole with a finger. “Is it because I look good on a broom? Because you know deep down inside I will always be better than you?”

Malfoy shoved roughly to his knees, unseating Harry. He turned, his expression livid. He forced Harry onto his back and crawled on top of him. “If you don’t shut up I’ll use a spell and _make you_.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“You are the utter _worst_.” Malfoy muttered a lube spell and reached behind himself. He glared down at Harry as he fingered himself open. 

“Are you fucking yourself right now?”

Malfoy bit his lip and turned his face away. 

Harry took a deep breath and let himself say all the dirty things in his head. “Do you like fucking yourself, Malfoy? I bet you do. I bet you do it all the time, and — and think of my cock when you do it.” Harry knew he was blushing deeply. 

Malfoy moaned desperately. His mouth had dropped open. 

“How many fingers?”

“Two,” Malfoy whispered, his eyes lidded.

“We both know that isn’t enough.” Harry was burning up, and his cock was virtually sticking straight up. He stroked himself slowly, just a little, needing to take the edge off. Malfoy’s gaze zeroed in on his hand.

Malfoy cast another lube spell, some of it dripping on the carpet. He eased a third finger inside, slowly stretching himself. Then a determined look came over his face and he got into position over Harry’s cock. 

“Don’t look at me.” Malfoy pushed Harry’s face away. His hand remained pressed to his cheek as he eased down on Harry’s cock. 

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t say anything.” Malfoy was panting. 

Harry escaped his grasp, needing to see. Malfoy’s face had paled. He gritted his teeth and eased down further. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. 

“Are you sure?” Harry whispered, barely able to stop himself from thrusting.

“I want this,” Malfoy stuttered. “I want — I want so much.”

“You can have it.” Harry smoothed his hands over Malfoy’s trembling thighs. They were both trembling, but for different reasons. Harry didn’t know how to hold on. He clenched his stomach and held his breath. Malfoy’s arse clutched him needily; it tried to push him out. 

Malfoy eased up then sank back down, working more of Harry’s cock inside him. He felt too tight, as if Harry was tearing him open. A hot pink flush smeared down his pale chest. 

Malfoy was making noise, little closed-mouth cries. Harry smoothed his hands down his thighs again, soothing him. 

“Shh, love,” Harry said. “I got you.”

“I want it,” Malfoy cried.

“I know, love. You can have it.”

“I shouldn’t.” Malfoy closed his eyes and let his head drop back. 

“Please — I need to move.”

“Do it,” he murmured. 

Holding his waist, Harry thrust gently. It took everything in him to be gentle. All he wanted was to fuck into Malfoy, ruin him. His bollocks were so tight they _hurt_. 

“Oh,” Malfoy said.

“All right?”

“Yes. Just—” Malfoy leaned forward and rested his palms on Harry’s chest. Harry wanted to pull him down into a kiss, but he didn’t. He thrust again, watching Malfoy’s shadowed expression. The fairy lights played over his skin. 

“You’re opening up,” Harry panted.

“Fuck me harder.”

“Yes.” Harry thrust faster, harder. He was now entirely inside Malfoy, his bollocks smearing some of the wet. He ground into him, still watching his expression. Malfoy’s eyes were barely open, his bottom lip captured by his teeth. 

Harry grabbed his hands, entwining their fingers. “You are perfect.”

Gasping, Malfoy eased up then sat back down. Remarkably, his cock was still stiff, still dripping. “You hurt me.”

“Please,” Harry said, losing the plot a bit. “I want to protect you.”

“All you’ve ever done is hurt me.”

“God, Draco.” Harry grabbed him again, flipping him over. He did his best to remain inside him, but the change of position made Malfoy cry out. “I’m sorry — I just—”

“Yes.” Malfoy wrapped his legs around Harry. “Give it to me.”

Harry thrust into him, hard, too hard. Malfoy cried out again. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

“I hate you.” Malfoy pulled him into a kiss, his lips burning. Harry groaned into his mouth, his cock surging inside Malfoy. Their tongues brushed, and Harry thrust and thrust. He came from the kiss, barely feeling anything other than Malfoy’s needy, sweet mouth. 

Blindly, Harry reached between them to stroke Malfoy. Malfoy cried, muffled. Harry kissed him deeper, eating his sounds, eating his desperation. He stroked and stroked, hoping he was doing it properly, hoping he was enough. He was softening inside Malfoy but he was still thrusting, unwilling to end it.

“Harry,” Malfoy whispered, everything in his body strung tight. He came almost silently, his face pink and desperate, his eyes twisted closed. Harry watched him greedily. Malfoy squeezed around his cock, hard, pushing him out. 

Once Malfoy relaxed, he opened his eyes and smiled sleepily up at Harry. _I’m in love_ , Harry thought. 

“That was amazing,” Harry said.

Malfoy kissed him gently, all his hard edges melted away. He looked like a different person, an untroubled person. “Happy Christmas,” he whispered. 

Harry caressed his cheek. “I want you.”

“You are so stupid.” Malfoy beamed. 

Later, after a long shower together that included tender snogging, they sat at Malfoy’s old kitchen table and devoured his roast. 

“This is great,” Harry said, licking gravy from his lips. 

“Thank you, Potter. I enjoyed cooking it.” Malfoy was pink and relaxed. Harry leaned across the table and kissed him. “But you are doing the washing up.”

Harry laughed. He nibbled Malfoy’s jaw. “It would be my pleasure.”

*

January arrived too quickly. Since Christmas, Harry hadn’t been able to get Malfoy out of his head. Practise continued like normal. Camp overall continued like normal, but now Signing Day was a mere week away and Harry hadn’t let himself think about Puddlemere. He hadn’t let himself think about anything but Malfoy.

Puddlemere was a problem. He should have told Malfoy about their offer on Christmas, or at least sent him an owl asking to talk to him in person. But now Trout wanted to speak to Harry again in his office, and Harry knew he had to accept his offer. He would be the biggest idiot in Quidditch history if he didn’t. 

Harry left the barracks and ventured to Trout’s office. It was after dinner, and meddling rain pelted the tent. It had pelted Harry, too, only a few hours ago on the Quidditch pitch. Harry was glad he could feel his fingers again. 

The same group was in Trout’s office. Charlie and Wood looked a bit pensive but Trout was smiling widely. 

“ _Harry_ ,” Trout said, standing up. He opened his arms like he meant to hug Harry but he didn’t come around his desk. “Please have a seat, my boy.”

Harry took a seat. Charlie grinned at him. Wood looked like he might sick up. 

“How have you been, Harry? Enjoyed the holidays?” Trout said.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s brilliant, Harry. Just brilliant.” Trout paused to gather his words. “You read the contract then?”

“I did, sir.”

“Do you have an answer for me?”

Harry opened his mouth. He meant to say _Yes_ but instead he said, “What about Malfoy?” Next to him, Charlie flinched. Wood made a noise, and it sounded a bit like a gag.

Trout blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. What about him?”

Trout looked honestly confused. “I don’t understand your question.”

“He’s the best Seeker at this camp. Everybody knows it. Puddlemere should pick him up instead of me.”

“Harry!” Wood sounded scandalised. 

Trout’s expression harded. “No team is going to pick him up. Not in the UK, not in Europe. He’s practically a criminal.”

“He isn’t a criminal!”

“Harry, please,” Charlie said softly. 

Harry’s face was hot. He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to make it right. “I will only sign with Puddlemere if Malfoy is also signed.”

“ _What_?” Trout said.

“You heard me.”

“We don’t need a backup Seeker. We already have one. In fact, we have three.”

“I don’t care. Malfoy deserves a chance. If you say no team will pick him up then I will only sign with the one that does. I’m not married to Puddlemere United.”

The colour had drained from Trout’s face. Harry could see Trout was imagining all the revenue he was about to lose if he didn’t sign Harry. The problem for Trout was Harry didn’t care about revenue. His heart wasn’t set on Puddlemere; it was set on Malfoy. Harry wanted Malfoy to be successful, even if it meant starting out as backup Seeker. 

“Okay, Harry.” Trout put his hands up. “We will sign Malfoy as well. But your contract will change. We will only offer you ten million, not twenty, and you will be locked in for five years.”

“Fine.”

“Harry, you need to think about this,” Charlie said quickly. “A lot can happen in five years.”

“I don’t care.” Harry’s heart was pounding hard. 

Wood made a gagging noise. “You are losing _ten million Galleons_. Is Malfoy really worth it?”

“Yes.”

Trout was looking at Harry, re-evaluating him, identifying his weaknesses. Trout now knew Malfoy was Harry’s weakness. 

Trout tapped his wand to the contract, and it disappeared. “Our legal counsel will draw up another contract. You will have it by tomorrow morning.” He stood and shook Harry’s hand. “Welcome to the team, Harry.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry didn’t smile. He had no idea what he was doing, and everyone in the room knew it.

*

On Signing Day, Harry felt strange. All the recruits filed into the hall. The speaking platform was back. So was the media. Harry ducked his head when he spotted Rita Skeeter. 

Malfoy sat at the same table as Harry, all the way at the end. Harry tried to catch his eye but, like always, Malfoy ignored him.

The instructors lined up on the speaking platform. Charlie and Wood looked excited. Even Flint was smirking. Hobbs’ expression was bored. There were loads of coaches, and Harry didn’t recognise most of them. Trout looked the oiliest. 

Higgins was one of the first names announced. He was headed to the Montrose Magpies. Harry cheered the loudest. He clapped Higgins on the back. Higgins grinned like a maniac. 

When Malfoy’s name was called, he looked stunned. He blinked like he was in a dream, barely moving. Trout grinned thinly and shook his hand. 

Harry was the last pick to be announced. He tried not to look at Malfoy but he still caught Malfoy’s expression: enraged, betrayed. Trout pulled Harry onto the platform, still pumping his arm. The media swarmed, cameras flashing. Harry felt sick to his stomach. He was waiting for the axe to fall. 

“Phineas, dear,” Skeeter said loudly. “What a peculiar situation! Pray tell: _Why_ did Puddlemere pick up two Seekers?”

Trout winked down at Harry. “No comment, Rita; but let me take this opportunity to tell you how _brilliant_ Harry Potter is. No Seeker is as good as him. _No one_.”

Malfoy walked out. Harry watched him go, desperate to follow him. Trout had an arm around him, his beefy hand sealed tight over his shoulder. 

“Harry, dear,” Skeeter said, batting her eyelashes. “Are you okay with having a Death Eater as a teammate?”

“Malfoy isn’t a Death Eater, not anymore.” _He doesn’t even have the Mark_ , Harry wanted to say, but he didn’t know that for sure. Malfoy might wear a Disillusionment Charm on his arm. 

“Yes, but don’t you feel _unsafe_?”

“Not at all,” he growled.

“What about the rest of the team. Don’t you care about them?”

“Pardon, but I need the toilet.” Harry pulled himself from Trout’s grasp and charged from the hall. He heard two men talking in the corridor. 

“He did it because he thinks you're pathetic.” It was Flint’s voice.

“I _know_ ,” Malfoy snarled. “You don’t need to spell it out for me.”

Harry turned the corner. Malfoy and Flint looked at him. Flint laughed, he actually laughed. Malfoy walked away. Harry tried to follow but Flint grabbed him. 

“I told him everything, Potter.” Flint was smirking savagely. “Did you think Trout would keep it a secret? You _begged_ him to sign Draco.”

“I don’t care what you say. I just need to talk to Malfoy.”

“Don’t you get it? He hates you now. Nothing you can say will make it better.” Flint had his hands on Harry, pulling his shirt.

“Let go of me!” Harry shoved him away.

“I told you to mind your own business, Potter. I told you but you didn’t listen. Now everything is ruined because of you. And all because you wanted to fuck him. Isn’t that just _pathetic_?”

Harry punched him. Flint fell back against the wall, holding his jaw. He went for his wand but Harry threw up a protection barrier and made a run for it. 

The rain came down in a heavy curtain outside. It was always bloody raining in Cannock Forest. Harry caught up with Malfoy on the pitch.

“Stop! I need to talk to you!”

Malfoy turned on him. He was crying, the rain mixing with his tears. He pointed his wand at Harry. “Leave me the fuck alone, Potter.”

“Just let me explain—”

“I told you I wanted to do it by myself!” Malfoy yelled. 

“They weren’t going to sign you — no one was going to. I — I didn’t want to leave you behind.”

“I don’t want you to be my hero, Potter. You saved the whole world but I refuse to let you save me.”

“Draco, please.”

Malfoy jabbed his wand at him. “Don’t you dare say my name.”

“Draco. _Please_. Let me explain.”

“If you say my name one more time, I’m going to rip you apart.”

Harry wiped the pouring rain from his face. He was breathing so hard his glasses were fogging up. “What if I’m in love with you?”

Malfoy slashed his wand through the air and Harry flew back. He landed hard on the ground, gasping. For a moment, he thought Malfoy had hit him with the Sectumsempra Spell, his chest sliced open. But no, it was just his heart breaking. 

Malfoy Disapparated.

***

_Dear ~~Draco~~ Malfoy,_

_I hope it’s okay that I’m writing to you. It’s been over a year since camp, and I’m still thinking about you. Congratulations on your first season with the Seattle Seance. I follow the American league now because of you, and the Americans really think you’re a rising star. I’m happy for you, I really am. That’s all I was trying to do when I … you know. I just wanted you to have a chance._

_Malfoy, I hope you write back. I would like the opportunity to apologise in person. My season with Puddlemere is over, and we’re on holiday for a few months. It would be nothing for me to hire a Portkey to Seattle. I want to see you. I really do. ~~I can’t stop thinking about you.~~_

_Please. I never meant to hurt you._

_Respectfully Yours,  
Harry_

_Potter —_

_This is Pansy Parkinson. Draco asked me to handle his correspondence while he’s abroad. He didn’t leave any messages for you, but on his behalf, it’s my greatest pleasure to tell you: EAT SHIT._

_Have a wonderful day!_

_Sincerely,  
P. Parkinson_


	2. Part Two

Part Two

**Ten Years Later**

When Harry woke up, the first thing he felt was the pain. His body was broken. It was defeated. He wasn’t even thirty yet but he felt like a million years old.

Groaning, Harry crawled from bed. He was in a hotel room, posh and sterile. He hobbled to the wall-length windows and pulled back the curtains. London’s sky churned like gritty tea. He was far up, towering above the city, but the day was too gloomy for him to appreciate it. 

Today was going to be shit. The whole week, in fact. His stomach twisted. Today he would see Draco Malfoy for the first time in a decade. 

Harry brewed a cup of coffee with a flick of his wand, still facing the window. He turned slightly to catch the steaming cup. He and Malfoy were the last two finalists to be England’s starting Seeker in the Quidditch World Cup. Harry wanted to play for England; he wanted to experience the World Cup just once before he retired. Because Harry was going to retire, and soon. He didn’t think he could even play another regular season with the Cannons.

Harry was eager to see Malfoy. More than eager. He was hungry for it. He had followed Malfoy’s career from afar and ate up all his sordid exploits detailed in the tabloids. Malfoy was a superstar now; he was legendary. For seven years, he led the Seattle Seance to four championships and helped them go two seasons without losing a single game. Then, three years ago, Malfoy signed with Puddlemere United for over thirty million Galleons. It was the most money any team had ever paid a player. 

Puddlemere had won two championships since then while Harry’s Cannons had barely made it through their seasons without imploding. But Harry wasn’t playing for the Cannons to win. Charlie Weasley was the Cannons’ head coach, and Harry had transferred to the team so he could finally be coached by someone he liked. 

Sighing, Harry finished his coffee and wandered to the shower. He had to get ready for the day.

*

The training facility was in the cellar of the same posh hotel. It was convenient living where the trials were held, but it also meant he rushed through the corridors in fear of running into Malfoy. Harry wanted to see Malfoy but he was also desperate to control their first interaction. With his luck, he would run into Malfoy coming out of the loo. 

Before Harry could escape to the underground training facility, he had to attend a breakfast _bursting_ with media. The breakfast was held in the Whitehall Suite, a large conference room that was stuck in the Victorian era. The wallpaper, gold fabric with a floral motif, clung to the walls like thick mould. Three decaying chandeliers hung from the ceiling like dusty hives. China chimed and cutlery clinked, and Harry was more than a little sure he was about to sick up. 

“There he is!” Charlie grabbed Harry’s shoulders and stared into his face worriedly. “You don’t look so great.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. 

“No, really. You’re not cracking up on me, are you?”

“Of course not.” Harry broke free. He headed for his seat, not stopping to grab another cup of coffee. 

Charlie followed him, and sat down next to him at one of the front tables. Luckily, two cups of coffee appeared in front of them, as if the table knew exactly what they needed.

“Ta,” Harry muttered to no one. He swallowed his coffee quickly, almost choking. He had showered, but there was still grit in his eyes, and he’d missed a few spots when shaving. Charlie thought he didn’t look so great. Yeah, probably not. He probably looked like shit warmed over — exactly how he felt. 

There was commotion at the other end of the room, and Harry snapped to attention. Malfoy had just entered, and he was being _swarmed_ by journalists. 

“Oh, Christ,” Harry said softly, his heart doing its best to choke him.

“What did you say?” Charlie said, also interested in the commotion.

The journalists parted briefly, fully revealing Malfoy. Harry caught his breath. Malfoy looked like a walking centrefold. His hair was fashionably cut — short on the sides, long up top. It gleamed beneath the chandeliers, notes of honey among the white blond. His body was long and muscular, elegant and deadly. He wore robes that were cut like a Muggle suit, the dark blue fabric _clinging_ to his legs and arse. 

He looked older, healthier, _better_. His face had filled out a touch; it held more strength, more confidence. His features weren’t so sharp and hungry. What had sharpened was his eyes. They were no longer hesitant or guarded. Malfoy looked around the room as if he were stripping people down to just their bones, pinpointing their weaknesses in a millisecond. He looked like he was poised to attack.

Harry couldn’t look away. He knew he was gawking. He probably looked pathetic, like one of Malfoy’s swooning fans. But it had been ten years since Harry last saw him, and the truth was Harry had never stopped wanting him. _Never._

As if hearing Harry’s thoughts, Malfoy turned his head and looked directly into his eyes. Harry’s stomach squeezed. Malfoy looking at him felt like a shot of electricity. Malfoy quickly glanced away, his expression bland.

Harry gasped for breath, and Charlie shot him a concerned look. “All right there, mate?” Charlie said.

Nodding, Harry gulped down more of his coffee. Malfoy took over the table next to his, the journalists knocking over chairs in their rush to get closer. Harry wanted to look again but he forced his eyes to remain down. Cameras flashed. The optics of this were terrible — Malfoy being swarmed by the media while the great Harry Potter sat at an empty table next to him. 

“Well,” Charlie said, sounding annoyed, “at least we know he’s scared.”

“No way.”

Charlie nodded. “He’s already playing games. He knows he can’t win on merit alone, so he will court the rags instead and try to show us up.”

“That’s just Malfoy. He loves the attention.”

“You don’t know him.”

Harry hesitated. “I don’t know him personally, not anymore; but I’ve been following his career for a while now. Playing nice with the reporters isn’t anything new to him.”

Charlie slammed his cup down on the table. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You’ve come here to win, not get your photograph taken.”

“Sure.” 

“ _Yoo-hoo_ , Harry.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Harry had to close his eyes for a moment. 

“Harry! How lovely it is to see you!” Rita Skeeter stood at his table, the only reporter to do so. She beamed down at him, looking like a maniac. She’d cast one too many anti-aging spells on her face, and now her features looked bloated. 

“Hello, Rita.” 

“Come on, Harry. Don’t look so down!” Skeeter’s pesky notepad still bobbed in the air beside her. 

Harry smiled brightly at her — his fake smile. “You’re catching me too early in the morning. Talk to me after the first interview.”

She clicked her tongue. “No, darling. I must speak to you now.” She glanced over her shoulder, obviously motioning to Malfoy. “I heard some rumours about you and Draco, darling.”

Harry cleared the emotion from his face. “Everyone already knows we hated each other back in school.”

“Oh, no. That’s not what I’m talking about.” She leaned in closer. “I’m talking about a love affair.”

“You already know I’m not dating anyone right now.”

“No, Harry. I’m not talking about right now. I’m talking about ten years ago.”

“I see.”

Grinning, Skeeter bent so close that Harry was forced to jerk back. “Tell me, darling,” she whispered. “Do you still carry a torch for Draco?”

Harry laughed. “I haven’t seen Malfoy in a decade. I barely even think of him.”

Skeeter watched him closely. “My sources say otherwise. They say you consider Draco the one that got away.”

Harry gulped. It was becoming harder not to show his emotions. “Who are your sources?”

“A girl never tells.” She winked. Her floating quill was writing furiously. 

“They’re liars.”

“I don’t think they are, darling.” She slinked over to join the storm at Malfoy’s table. 

For one terrified moment, Harry thought she was about to talk to Malfoy about him, tell him about her sources, but relief washed through him when he saw that she didn’t stand a chance asking Malfoy a question. There were just too many journalists surrounding him. 

“You can’t allow her or _him_ to distract you,” Charlie said.

“I know that.”

“Good. Now I’m ordering breakfast. You want your usual porridge?”

Harry nodded, even though he doubted he was going to be able to eat. His stomach churned terribly. 

He hoped that Malfoy would look his way again, but Malfoy was too busy making the reporters chortle to pay attention to him.

*

Later, Harry was able to escape to the state-of-the-art locker rooms. Gleaming metal and humming machines surrounded him. He and Malfoy were both given their own walk-in changing room, equipped with shower, bathtub, and masseur table. 

There was a communal space with empty lockers and open showers. This was where he found Malfoy. 

The first thing he noticed was the sound of running water. Someone was taking a shower, and only he and Malfoy had access to this area. Harry had to stop for a moment and rest his hand on the wall. He felt dizzy. He hadn’t been alone with Malfoy for a damn decade, and now there was a possibility the git was showering in the communal area when he had a perfectly good private suite in which to bathe. 

“Potter.”

Harry swerved around. Malfoy stood in front of him utterly naked. “Wow,” he said.

Malfoy raised a sleek eyebrow. He crossed his arms as if he were impatient. “Did you enjoy breakfast? I couldn’t help but notice you looked a touch lonely.”

“You’re starkers,” Harry croaked. 

“And you’re staring.” Malfoy didn’t smile. He looked bored. 

“Because you’re starkers!”

“It hasn’t been that long, has it? Surely you remember what a naked man looks like.” Malfoy strutted closer, his prick flaccid and so, so pink. Harry glanced down, he couldn’t help it. He glanced down and watched. 

Harry backed up into the wall. “Our first interview starts in an hour!”

Malfoy threw his head back and laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “Do you think I’m trying to fuck you? How _sad_.”

“You’re naked!” Harry was stuttering. “You - what am I supposed to think?”

Malfoy shrugged, utterly nonchalant. “You interrupted me right before I could step into the shower. I didn’t know who it was. Of course I had to investigate.”

“That’s just mental. You have a private bath you could’ve easily used. Instead — instead you chose to strut around starkers when you knew we were both asked to come down here.”

A sudden smirk bloomed across Malfoy’s face. The smirk turned into a predatory smile. That was when Harry understood. 

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“I didn’t try it. I _did_ it. There’s a difference.” He put his back to Harry, showing off his remarkable arse. “Enjoy the show as I walk away, Potter. It will be the last thing you enjoy this week. I’m going to _ruin_ you.”

“Fuck off!” Harry’s voice was too loud.

*

Their trials were divided into five interviews that included both a question and answer portion and a skills and technique portion. Malfoy was going to blow him out of the water in the first part; even after a decade of media training, Harry still bumbled his way through conversation, especially when the stakes were high. That meant Harry had to show the committee that he was better at Quidditch than Malfoy. Easier said than done.

Currently, Harry was dodging racing Bludgers on a magicked pitch. He was still in the bowels of the hotel; the committee had charmed a small room to look like a Quidditch World Cup pitch. Roaring fans surrounded Harry, the wind harsh on his face. He had long learned how to block out the audience but dodging the Bludgers was turning out to be quite the challenge. 

Harry felt the committee members watching him. It was impossible to see them in the middle of the simulation, but Harry still knew they were judging him. _What am I doing here?_ he thought right before a Bludger hit him in the back, sending him tumbling off his broom.

As Harry plummeted to earth, the simulation ended and he found himself standing on a metal platform. 

“An unfortunate outcome,” said one committee member.

“Yes,” Harry said, breathless. “Let me have another go. I will do better next time.”

“No, that’s okay. We’ve seen enough. You may leave.” 

Harry hobbled back to his hotel room. Once behind the safety of his locked door, he punched the nearest wall. 

“I take it, it didn’t go well,” Charlie said. 

“Sorry.” Harry hobbled over to the sofa and lowered himself down. “A Bludger caught me in the back right at the end. The committee didn’t let me have another go.”

“No, they wouldn’t. There will be no second chances at the World Cup.”

Sighing, Harry dropped his head back. He covered his eyes with an arm, causing his glasses to dig into his nose. “I’m mucking this up for the both of us.”

“How’s your hand?”

“The only reason I’m here is because Watkins and Dunmore are injured. I’m still a good Seeker, but I’m not the best one in England. Not by a long shot.”

“You’re here because you don’t make stupid decisions on the pitch. Watkins and Dunmore made stupid decisions, and their bodies paid the price.”

“It’s not like I’m at one hundred percent.”

“No, you’re not. That’s why you shouldn’t be punching walls, you moron.”

“I said I was sorry.”

Charlie sighed. “I’ll call Gu up here so he can take a look at you.”

“Ta,” Harry responded, not lifting his arm. 

Later, after Healer Gu had cast a cocoon of spells around him and made him sit in an ice bath, Harry lay in bed, surrounded by the wall-length windows. He watched the dull afternoon light flee the city. 

“Draco,” he whispered to the empty air. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy. In truth, he had been thinking about him since it was announced they were the final two Seekers in consideration. In truth, he had been thinking about him for the last ten years. 

Skeeter was right. Harry did think of Malfoy as the one who got away. Nobody had ever come close to how Malfoy made him feel. It didn’t help that Harry had put all his memories of them together in a Pensieve. He’d watched those memories, too, countless times, especially the ones of them shagging. 

Malfoy had been scared. That was what Harry knew now after countless hours of watching them. Even when they had been shagging, Malfoy had tried to push him away, put up barriers, protect himself. He caught how Malfoy had looked at him when he was turned away, a look full of pining and sadness and fear. Malfoy had looked at him so hungrily, and somehow he had missed it every time. 

But that was before. Malfoy had moved on. Five years ago, he’d even gotten hitched to another man in Las Vegas. The marriage had only lasted a night, but the tabloids all said Malfoy was in love. He looked like he was in love in all the published photographs of the wedding. The man had been a Mexican Quidditch player and a part-time model. Harry refused to remember his name.

Harry eased a hand into his pants and stroked himself lazily. He was thinking about Malfoy’s cock. He couldn’t believe he had just seen Malfoy naked. He was even a little starstruck. How many fans had imagined that exact scenario playing out? Just wandering into the team’s changing rooms and stumbling on the legendary Draco Malfoy with his cock out. Harry’s hand quickened. 

Malfoy was just so damn pale, so damn pink. His body had thickened a bit, and there had been more hair on his chest and thighs. His thighs had looked creamy. Every inch of him had looked creamy. Harry wanted to spend about two days eating his arse. Fine dining. 

Malfoy had only pulled that stunt to fuck with him, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. He wondered if Malfoy still liked to bottom. Was he still an eager little cockslut? Did he still want big pricks filling him up? Harry hoped so. God, did he hope so. 

Harry forced his trousers and pants down so he could watch his hand stroking himself. He still had a good cock. It wasn’t perfect. But he liked it more than he did back when he was eighteen. He knew how to use it now; over the years, he had learned how to not hurt his lovers when he made love to them. He wanted to show Malfoy how good he could be in bed now. He wanted to show him how he could be the _best_ in bed. 

Harry should have dropped to his knees the moment he saw Malfoy starkers. He should have dropped to his knees and opened his mouth, tasted that pretty, pretty cock. Malfoy had wanted it. Or Harry could have made him want it. Harry knew how to suck cock now; he was _good_ at it. He should have taken that soft pink cock into his mouth and—

Throwing his head back, Harry came with a cry. He tried to get most of his spunk on his stomach, but he gushed over his knuckles and smeared on his trousers. 

“Fuck,” he muttered when the pleasure had finally faded. He slumped against his pillows and stared up at the darkening ceiling, his eyes sleepy and barely open. 

_What am I doing here?_ he thought again. He didn’t know what he was doing there. He wanted to play for England, of course he wanted it, but he wouldn’t be heartbroken if it didn’t matter. 

Harry opened his eyes. He stared in shock at the ceiling. It was true: _He wouldn’t be heartbroken_. For years he had been working toward the day he finally played for England in the World Cup but now he realised he didn’t really care.

No, that wasn’t true. He cared. Of course he cared. Being a professional Quidditch player was who he was. He _had_ to care. 

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. He covered his face with his dirty hands. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered.

*

Later that night, Harry had to leave his hotel room for another event with the media, a cocktail party held in the hotel’s balcony bar. The terrace was ornate and exclusive with snooty plants crowding the edges and hiding the attendees from view. 

Harry dressed up. He hated wearing robes so he chose a black sleek jumper that he hoped would impress Malfoy. He even attempted to style his hair, which ended up a complete disaster. His hair was a disaster in general, but that was nothing new. 

Charlie wouldn’t be at the event, which made Harry sweat. He was shit at mingling, especially with strangers, especially with the reporter and editor type. He really had nothing to say to them. 

When he reached the terrace, he headed straight for the wall-length bar. The city twinkled below them. It was a touch cold, but the hotel had cheerful fires floating in the air. Harry ordered a whiskey and drowned it in minutes. 

Once again, he knew when Malfoy made his grand entrance. Reporters rushed to the door and everyone seemed to stop and turn to watch Malfoy. Malfoy was worth watching. He wore silver robes that moved about his body like mercury. He should have looked old-fashioned and ridiculous, but the robes were cut expertly. They clung to his body like they were paint rather than fabric. Harry caught his breath. 

Malfoy didn’t glance at him as he strode past, a horde of people racing after him. Truth be told, Harry liked that Malfoy was more famous than him. He liked that he was sucking up all the attention in the room. Harry had spent the last twenty years being gawked at, and he was tired of it. 

Malfoy also had an entourage. Harry spotted Parkinson among the horde, her bovine nose still very much intact. She looked bored and mildly disgusted. Harry still had the reply she sent him a decade ago. 

Sighing, Harry nabbed another whiskey from the bar.

The reporters were taking turns shouting questions at Malfoy. “Draco! Draco! Anderson Marlow says he’s skeptical you have what it takes to be England’s Seeker. Do you have a response?”

Malfoy’s mouth curled in a haughty smile. “Anderson was a good friend when I played with the Seance. Good man. Except for his table manners. Ghastly, I tell you. Anyone who eats like him has no business casting judgment.”

“Was he really that messy?” The reporter sounded scandalised.

Malfoy leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It was like a pig sat next to me at every meal. Even the tablecloth was left in _tatters_.”

Gasps and laughter echoed through the bar. Malfoy winked at the reporter. Harry rolled his eyes and took another swallow of his whiskey. The whole thing was so immature. 

Harry found a shadowy table to waste the hour away. A few reporters even took pity on him. They asked him if he considered himself a has-been. 

“Um, no, I don’t,” Harry said, grinding his teeth as he smiled. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“I heard trials aren’t going so well for you,” said one reporter.

Harry frowned. “It’s just the first day.”

“Yes, but first impressions are everything, aren’t they?”

His frown deepened, and that was when a photographer took his picture. He could only hope it was too dark in the bar to make for a good photograph, but spells could do anything to images.

After the reporters slinked away, Harry lost the plot a bit. He drank too much. He couldn’t stop staring at Malfoy from across the bar. Malfoy was just so magnetic, so charismatic. He was the hottest thing Harry had ever seen. 

A waiter delivered a pink cocktail in a tall glittery flute to his lonely table. “I didn’t order this,” Harry said, embarrassed. The magicked drink even had heart-shaped bubbles. 

The waiter shrugged. “It’s from a secret admirer. No message, unfortunately.”

“I don’t want this.”

Another shrug. “It’s already paid for.” The waiter walked away. 

Harry pushed the cocktail to the side of his table. He had long ago learned not to drink things he didn’t order himself. Many, many people had tried to dose him with love potions throughout the years. 

He forgot about the drink and took up staring at Malfoy again. Malfoy was pink in the face and roaring with laughter. His entourage seemed to be the funniest people on earth. At one point, Malfoy even pulled another man close and whispered in his ear. The man’s face softened in flirtation, his hand lingering on Malfoy’s arm. Harry ground his teeth again.

Was Malfoy currently seeing anyone? Did he still fancy blokes like Harry? What if he had a boyfriend, a secret fiance? What if —

Closing his eyes, Harry forced himself to stop thinking. He was torturing himself. He had to be okay with never knowing those answers.

Needing the toilet, Harry stumbled from his table. He wandered around a bit, knocking into strangers. Fuck, he was drunk and very much alone. It was not a good look.

The toilets were posh with gold-trimmed walls and teardrop mirrors. A nice light fragrance filled with room. There was even a carpet near the door. Harry stumbled into a stall, had a good long piss, and stumbled over to the gold faucet to wash his hands with lavender soap. 

“Hello, Potter.”

Harry swerved around, his hands still soapy. Malfoy had appeared from nowhere. “Jesus, Malfoy,” he slurred. 

Malfoy came closer. He arched an eyebrow. “You are absolutely sloshed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“This is the biggest moment in our careers, and you decided to down five whiskeys. Well done, Potter. Really.”

“How do you know I was drinking whiskey?”

Malfoy blinked. “Because I can smell it on you.”

Harry took a step closer. He was staring into Malfoy’s cold eyes, daring him to react. There was something between them, and he didn’t think he was making it up. “It’s good to see you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy stood his ground. His gaze had darkened a little. “I find it interesting you still think that. I thought I made myself clear this morning.”

“Oh, right. You plan to ruin me.” Harry took another step closer. Malfoy tilted his face up.

“Yes, I am. I’m going to make you wish you had never tried to compete with me.”

“Why, Malfoy? Because you’re the best?” Harry leaned in, his breath now on Malfoy’s face. 

“Potter.”

Harry put his hand on Malfoy’s arm, just like the other man. Malfoy’s arm was hard with muscle under his fingertips. Harry tightened his hold. 

Something snapped in Malfoy’s expression. “Fuck you, Potter,” he growled, and shoved Harry into the wall. He pressed against his chest roughly. 

Harry grabbed his waist. “Draco,” he murmured. 

“Shut up!” Malfoy said, his eyes flaring. Harry expected to be punched or Hex; but Malfoy dropped to his knees. _He dropped to his knees_.

“Oh, Jesus.” Harry was too shocked to move. 

“Don’t say a word,” Malfoy insisted, his face turning pink again. He was yanking on Harry’s zip. It was like before, like what Harry had watched over and over in his Pensieve. He had _dreamed_ about this. 

“God, Malfoy.” He sounded choked up. 

Malfoy got his trousers down, urgent, so urgent. He ripped down his underpants, and Harry’s big cock popped free. “Yes,” Malfoy hissed. Moaning, he took Harry into his mouth. 

Harry’s head was spinning. He could barely focus his eyes. He grabbed Malfoy’s shoulders, needing to steady himself. He watched Malfoy’s blurry, enraptured expression as Malfoy took him all the way down. Then he was in Malfoy’s throat, and Malfoy was swallowing around him, _choking_ around him. 

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry cried, unable to stop himself. He wanted to thrust, but Malfoy had him pinned to the wall. Malfoy came off his cock, gasping wetly. Harry fisted his hair. He tugged his head back to look into his eyes. “Tell me.”

“No.” Malfoy looked blissed out.

Harry tightened his grip. “Tell me, damn you.”

“I find you _pathetic_.” Malfoy shoved Harry’s hand away, then went back down on his cock, bobbing quickly, sucking and sucking. Harry thrust, wiggling, unable to control his hips. 

“Tell me you want my big prick, Malfoy.”

Malfoy licked up his shaft hungrily. “Fuck you.”

“Tell me, Malfoy. Tell me you thought about me.”

“You mean nothing to me, Potter. You’ve always meant nothing to me. Now shut up and come in my mouth. I want to taste you.”

 _No_ , Harry wanted to say, but his cock was needy, so needy. He thrust into Malfoy’s mouth, going deeper, wanting to choke him again. Malfoy opened his throat, but his eyes were closed, his expression now pained. Harry watched his face as he came, white hot pleasure surging through him. Malfoy moaned and sucked harder. He didn’t grimace as he tasted Harry; he didn’t swallow. 

Harry whimpered as he emptied himself. He whimpered and thrust pathetically. Stupid tears stung his eyes. 

Gasping, he slumped against the wall, everything muted and slowed. Was the door even locked? It didn’t matter, nothing mattered. 

Malfoy stood up. He pulled Harry close, wrapping his strong arms around him. He pressed their mouths together, and Harry groaned desperately and parted his lips. He’d waited ten years for Malfoy to kiss him again; but Malfoy wasn’t kissing him, he was pushing Harry’s come back into his mouth, his tongue very deliberately not touching him. 

This just made Harry moan deeply. He swallowed his own semen, not caring. He tried to kiss Malfoy again, a proper kiss this time, but Malfoy yanked back.

“You’re disgusting,” Malfoy said.

“You started it.”

“I didn’t expect you to _enjoy_ it.”

Harry tried to pull him into another embrace. Malfoy resisted. “Come back to my room. I’ll make it worth your time.”

“Doubtful,” Malfoy said, grimacing. “You lasted barely a minute. That has to be a new record.”

“I lasted longer than that!”

“No.”

“Well, you already knew I’m good at breaking records. My house is filled with medals because of it.”

“I fucking hate you.” Malfoy tried to storm away but Harry still clung to him. 

“I’m not eighteen anymore, Malfoy. You can’t embarrass me. Sure, you can distract me, but we might be playing a different game.”

“Get your hands off me!”

Harry let go of him. He leaned against the wall, relaxed, just staring at Malfoy. The orgasm had sobered him up. 

“Stop _looking_ at me.”

“No.”

Fear crept into Malfoy’s expression. His mouth thinned. “I thought you wanted to win.”

“I do want to win,” Harry said, not thinking about the trials.

“What are you on about then? The next interview starts early tomorrow morning. We both need our rest.”

Wincing, Harry pushed off the wall. “You’re right. I should get back to my room.”

“You’re hurt.”

Harry gave him a wry smile. “I’ve been hurt for a while now. It’s nothing.”

Malfoy crossed his arms. “Don’t you have proper Healers at the Cannons? Or is the team too poor to afford medical help?”

“I’m surrounded by Healers who prod and prick me all day long. It doesn’t erase the fact my body is breaking down.”

“Why are you telling me this? I could use it against you. Go to the media with it.”

“Because I want to trust you.” Hesitating, Harry touched Malfoy’s smooth cheek. Malfoy allowed it but he looked furious. 

“You are such an _asshole_.”

Harry laughed. “Your accent slipped. I wondered if being in America changed you.”

“It didn’t change me!”

Harry leaned closer. “You know what? I think you have a great _ass_.” He made the squawking A sound that Americans favoured.

Malfoy went pink. “Stuff it, you wanker.”

This only made Harry laugh more. Malfoy stomped away.

“See you tomorrow!” Harry called after him.

*

The next interview went slightly better. At least, Harry didn’t get pummelled by Bludgers. He didn’t do better than Malfoy, he knew that. He didn’t need to see Malfoy’s performance to know Malfoy beat him on speed. 

The committee timed Harry as he tracked down twenty angry Snitches, back on the simulated Quidditch pitch. Harry made no big mistakes, and his time was pretty impressive, but he knew he could have done better. He was distracted again. He couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy’s gorgeous mouth wrapped around his cock, sucking for dear life, even when a Snitch was right in front of his face. 

The strange thing was Harry didn’t care all that much. After the interview, he hobbled back up to his hotel room and collapsed in front of the magicked telly. Charlie arrived a few minutes later. The committee didn’t allow coaches or assistants near the training facility, or else Charlie would have been right in the simulation room with him. 

“So?” Charlie said anxiously. 

Harry sighed. Charlie cursed loudly. 

“What is going on with you, Harry? You’re acting like you don’t even want it!”

“I want it,” he muttered, head down.

Charlie stopped in his tracks. He stared down at Harry. “You don’t want it. That’s what this is all about.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth. “I want it,” he repeated, after a moment. “My life’s dream has been to play for England in the World Cup.”

“But?” Charlie growled. 

Harry thought about it and tried to remove Malfoy from the equation. “I hurt, Charlie. I hurt all the time.”

“We talked about this before any of this even started. You said you could deal with the pain. You could have had surgery last year but you declined it.”

“I don’t want another surgery.” Harry touched his shoulder, rotating it. His right shoulder was just one of the places that ached constantly now. “I spent my twenties being cut open. I don’t want it anymore.”

“You want to retire,” Charlie said quietly. 

“I told you that was my plan.”

“Not after the World Cup. Right now.”

“No.” Harry bit his lip. “Yes.”

“Fucking hell.” Charlie stormed away, not going very far. He covered his face. “What are we doing here then?”

Harry stared at Charlie’s defeated back. Charlie deserved honesty. “I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. “I want to continue competing. I don’t want to drop out.”

Charlie turned to face him. “Why, Harry? What’s the point?”

“I want to be around Malfoy.”

“I fucking knew it!” 

“I’m sorry, okay? I know I’m being ridiculous. I know I’m wasting your time.”

“You could beat him, Harry! You could beat him but you are too busy nursing a stupid crush on him to do your damn job!”

Harry winced. It was true that Harry was letting Malfoy distract him. “I don’t think I could beat him. He’s too good.”

“You just think that because you want to shag him! _Come on_ , Harry.”

“This isn’t about skill, not entirely. They want someone charismatic, somehow who can woo all those bloody reporters. We both know I’m not that person.”

“You used to be that person.”

“I never _wooed_ them. They were just interested in me because I killed Voldemort. But now I’m all washed up — I’m yesterday’s news.”

“You’re only thirty. That’s not all washed up.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m tired of being in pain.”

“Then get your arse back downstairs.” Charlie checked his magical watch. “I ordered a masseur for you. They should already be down there.”

Harry rubbed his shoulder. “A massage does sound nice.”

“It isn’t about it being _nice_. It’s about taking care of yourself. Get your arse down there.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry pushed himself to his feet.

*

The training facility was quiet when Harry arrived. He was a little disappointed to not see Malfoy around, even though he knew he was being ridiculous. Charlie was right: Harry needed to stop allowing Malfoy to get under his skin, and he should definitely not let him suck his cock again, at least not until after the trials. 

Harry wandered into his private changing room. In the corner was the massage table; someone had already lit candles and even a bit of incense. Harry could have done without the incense — it reminded him too much of Trelawney’s classes — but the candles cast a soft, relaxing glow. Charlie must have paid extra or something, because Harry had never received a professional massage that was so concerned with ambiance. 

Harry undressed and crawled onto the table. The table was heated and charmed to feel solid, reassuring, but also soft like a pillow. As he waited for the masseur, he closed his eyes and let himself doze. The pain in his body was already lessening.

Then his masseur entered the room. The man’s footsteps were light and calming. He placed a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder briefly, then walked around him slowly, evaluating him. The man wore a light cologne; it was pleasing, familiar. Harry breathed it in deeply, letting it fill him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” the man murmured, so quiet the words were almost inaudible.

“Okay,” Harry breathed.

The man dripped warm oil over Harry’s shoulders, down his back. Harry made a noise in his throat; it was already feeling so very good. 

The man began to work the oil into his shoulders, and Harry’s breath stuttered. He gritted his teeth. The massaging felt good, so good; but it also hurt, especially on his right side. The man slowed down, his fingers pressing deeper, lingering.

“Your muscles are all bunched up in your right shoulder,” the man murmured.

“I know,” Harry said, teeth still gritted. He still had his face pressed to the table.

“You need to remember to breathe. You need to _relax_.”

Harry chuckled. “Easier said than done.”

The man followed the curve of Harry’s shoulder blade, driving his thumbs into the muscle there, urging Harry’s flesh to yield. Harry bit his lip so he wouldn’t cry out. The man leaned closer to him, inappropriately close. “Relax, Harry,” he murmured. 

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” The man’s voice was louder now, and it was familiar. Harry raised his head, wanting to look at him, but the man urged him to keep his neck relaxed, his forehead resting on the table. “There’s no need to look at me. You don’t want to irritate the muscles in your neck as well.”

“Do I know you?” Harry asked, muffled. He asked casually, not really caring if he got an answer or not. 

The man pressed harder into his shoulder, the oil making every touch nice and slippery. Harry let out a soft cry. 

“You’re loosening up.”

“Thank God,” Harry croaked. 

The man moved up to his neck. It was like lightning bolts of relaxing pleasure shooting down Harry’s spine. How could fingers massaging his neck feel so damn good?

“Oh,” Harry sighed.

“Does it feel good?”

“So good.” Harry moaned these words.

The man’s breath caught, or at least Harry thought he heard his breath catching. It didn’t matter; nothing matted, not when someone was touching him in such a delicious, relaxing way. Then those brilliant fingers moved down to his back, kneading, caressing, and tears came to Harry’s eyes. It felt so good it was making him _cry_.

“Oh, yes,” he whimpered, not really knowing himself. 

Another catch of breath. Hands moved down Harry’s arse; he pressed into the muscles there, massaging deep and slow. Harry moaned; he couldn’t stop himself. His cock took notice; it was waking up, stiffening. Oh, Christ.

“Turn over,” the man said gruffly.

“Um.” Harry heaved himself over, and the man quickly draped a warm flannel over his eyes. Harry tried to cover up his stiffy but it was useless. “Sorry,” he muttered. “We can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

The man’s breath was coming heavier now. Harry read it as anxiety. He was about to sit up when warm hands touched his thighs. 

“Continue to relax,” the man whispered. “Everything is okay.” He worked down Harry’s thighs, spreading more oil, and kneading.

“Yes,” Harry hissed. His cock was now fully hard, and he knew it was doing its best to stick straight up. 

The man kneaded up and down his thighs, letting his fingers trail along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He poured more oil, getting some of it on Harry’s cock. Harry made a needy noise in his throat. The man wrapped a warm hand around his shaft.

“Argh!” Harry jackknifed into a sitting position, the flannel falling from his eyes. He blinked, the dim candlelight too bright for a moment. 

It was Malfoy. He even wore the white robes of a masseur. “Hello, Potter.”

“What the bloody fuck!”

Malfoy smirked fiercely, his face pink. His eyes were dark, aroused. “What’s the matter? You were enjoying yourself.”

“Don’t you have better things to do? What happened to my real masseur?” 

Malfoy shrugged elegantly. “I told him he wasn’t needed. It was his tea time; he was quite happy to leave.”

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry growled, now really trying to cover himself up. His stiffy had softened only a little. “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you I would ruin you this week.”

“Giving me a massage is ruining me? You are barmy.” 

Malfoy’s smirk was so self-satisfied. He should have looked like an idiot, but he didn’t. He looked like pure sex. “Do you want me to continue?”

Harry hesitated. He should tell Malfoy to fuck off, or better yet, demand that he explain himself. But it was also _Draco Malfoy_ standing before him, and he was asking if Harry wanted him to touch his cock. _Of course_ Harry wanted him to touch his cock. 

“Um.” Harry licked his lips. 

“Lie back down.” Malfoy rested his warm palms on Harry’s shoulders. Just this small touch made Harry’s eyes flutter.

“Only if you take your clothes off and let me suck you.”

Malfoy’s expression was completely blank, but his eyes flickered. Harry knew enough to know what that flicker meant. He held his breath as he waited for Malfoy to decide. 

“All right,” Malfoy said softly, and slipped off his white robes. His body was so creamy, so strong. Harry grabbed him, pulling him closer. He dragged his hands down his warm sides.

Harry took Malfoy into his mouth. Malfoy was only a little hard but he cried out and grabbed Harry’s hair. Harry looked up at him. Malfoy looked shocked; he looked like he’d never had his cock sucked, but of course that wasn’t the case.

Harry dragged his tongue up his shaft, savouring him. Malfoy’s eyes were still wide but hot splotches of red stained his cheeks. 

“You taste so good,” Harry moaned. He took Malfoy back into his mouth, going deep, choking himself. Malfoy growled and tugged his hair. He started gently fucking his mouth.

“Just like that, Potter,” he growled. “Merlin, _just_ like that. Look at you. You love it, don’t you?”

Harry came up for air. “I love it, Draco. I love your cock.” 

“Have you thought about me, Potter? I bet you have. I bet you’ve been _desperate_ for my cock.” Malfoy forced past Harry’s lips, now thrusting roughly. Harry gagged. 

Wet flooded Harry’s mouth. He did his best to suck harder, and he felt Malfoy stiffen against his tongue. Malfoy ripped away, panting. They stared at one another. Malfoy looked wild. He looked so damn hungry. 

“I want to fuck you,” Malfoy said, challenging him. 

“ _Yes_.” Harry rolled onto his stomach. He presented his arse to Malfoy, not caring what he looked like.

Malfoy hesitated. “You’ll let me do it? _Here_?”

“I’ve wanted you for ten years. I don’t care if it happens in a changing room.” Harry hid his face against the table. He’d said too much. 

“Of course you’ve wanted me.” Malfoy stepped closer. He dragged his fingertips over Harry’s bum. “Everybody wants me, Potter.”

“I wanked to your centrefolds,” Harry admitted. 

Malfoy sucked in an unsteady breath. “Yeah, Potter? What else? Did you think about me when you buggered other men?”

Harry groaned. He couldn’t say it. Of course he had, but he couldn’t say it. 

Malfoy dripped warm oil over Harry’s bum, letting it slip between his cheeks. He touched a fingertip to Harry’s hole, rotating. “You’re tight, Potter. I can tell. Still prefer to top, hm?”

“More like I haven’t shagged anyone in ages.”

“I see,” Malfoy said, sounding delighted. “That’s why you’ve been so desperate. You’re hoping I’ll take pity on you.”

“Something like that.” Harry pressed into his finger, wanting more. 

Malfoy got him more wet with the oil. He pressed his finger in his arse, going slow; they both felt it when his knuckle popped past the tight muscle. Harry groaned. 

“So tight,” Malfoy murmured, now finger-fucking him roughly. 

“God,” Harry said, twisting, needing more. His cock was leaving a wet trail on the table. He couldn’t believe this was happening. 

Malfoy added a second finger, and Harry hissed. The pain made his eyes flutter. Malfoy withdrew his fingers and crawled onto the table. Harry held his breath; he heard the spitting of the candles, the little splash of oil as Malfoy slicked himself up, his hand making promising wet sounds. Malfoy was trying to muffle his own panting, Harry could tell. 

Malfoy entered him. Harry gasped, twisting some more. It had been a long time since another man was inside him, and it felt like it. God, Malfoy was splitting him open.

Groaning, Malfoy worked all the way inside Harry. He was trembling, his hands greedy on Harry’s hips. “Your fucking ass,” Malfoy whimpered. 

Harry laughed again; he couldn’t help it. Growling, Malfoy pulled out, then slammed back in. 

“Fuck!”

“There, Potter, _there_.” Malfoy hugged him close, grinding into him. He rested his cheek on Harry’s back, like he had all the time in the world. “Tell me what you imagined.”

“God.”

Malfoy pulled almost all the way out; he waited, his cock barely inside Harry. “Tell me.”

“God, Malfoy,” Harry stuttered. 

“Tell me, damn you.”

“You already know.”

Malfoy snorted and thrust back in, just a little. He sighed. “You imagined making love to me. Probably crying a little, too.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Harry muttered, remembering Malfoy’s own tears when they shagged. 

“Tell me what was between you and that pillock Smith.”

“This is unfair,” Harry said, now the one trembling. He tried to push back on Malfoy’s cock, but Malfoy tightened his hold on his hips. 

“Did you propose to him? That’s what Witch Weekly reported.”

“Ask me another bloody time, will you?”

“No, Potter. _Tell me_.”

“I didn’t propose to Zacharias! He made that up after I dumped him.”

“Smith and I look alike, don’t you think?”

Harry slammed his fist on the table. “Fuck me, Malfoy! _Please_.”

“Oh, Merlin, yes.” Malfoy thrust into him; he picked up his pace quickly, grunting. Harry reached back to feel his thrusting arse. 

“I dated Smith because he reminded me of you,” Harry gasped.

Malfoy whimpered; his thrusts lost rhythm. “Tell me,” he growled, sounding desperate. 

“I thought about you when I fucked him,” Harry said, his mind spinning. His cock was so heavy, so needy; it was swinging between his legs. “I wanted him to be you.”

“Merlin, Potter. I’m going to ruin you. I’m going to _end_ you.”

“Do it.” Harry wrapped a hand around his needy prick. He tugged quickly; his toes curled. 

“I’m going to win. I’m going to _defeat_ you.” 

“Yes, Draco. Do it. I want it.” Harry didn’t know what he was saying. He just wanted Malfoy to come inside him; he just wanted to feel his come drip down his thighs. He wanted to feel full; he wanted to be taken, to not think, to give Malfoy _everything_.

“Harry,” Malfoy whimpered. He stiffened and pulsed so deep inside Harry’s arse. Both of them groaned loudly. Harry came a few desperate strokes later, his knees slipping against the table. 

Malfoy collapsed against Harry’s back. He was still inside him, softening. He kissed the centre of Harry’s back. Harry lay in his own mess, not caring. His arse ached; he could barely think, and it felt glorious. 

Groaning, Malfoy pulled out. He slumped onto his side, mostly still on top of Harry. 

“Go on a date with me,” Harry murmured.

“No.”

“Then come to my room tonight.” Harry gulped, knowing what he had to say and hating it. “No one will know, Malfoy. Come up to my room tonight.”

Malfoy sighed. He smiled at Harry softly. “No, Potter. I’m too busy. I’m too popular.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Harry said eagerly, a bit pathetically. “I don’t care what time.”

Malfoy looked so relaxed; his eyes were soft and a lighter shade of grey. “Maybe. I don’t care if you wait for me and I never come.”

Harry framed his face and drew him into a kiss; Malfoy turned his face before their lips brushed. Harry kissed his cheek instead. “I’ll wait forever for you,” he murmured.

“Oh, shut up,” Malfoy said, but he was smiling.

*

When Harry finally reached his room again, he closed the door and slumped against it. He hadn’t cleaned himself up and he still felt a bit of wet dripping from his arse.

He covered his face. What the hell had just happened? He went down to his changing room for a massage and ended up getting shagged by Malfoy. He wasn’t supposed to be shagging anyone right now; he was supposed to be _focussing_.

Groaning, he pushed off the door and hobbled to the bathroom to take a shower. He hoped the steam would clear his head. 

After his shower, he made himself a cup of tea and sat down gingerly on his sofa. His arse was throbbing. He could easily dull the pain with a spell, but he didn’t want to. He liked the reminder that Malfoy had been inside him. 

He needed to talk to Hermione and Ron. He needed advice or guidance or _something_. They were a good choice because they had no stake in him becoming England’s Seeker. They just wanted him to be happy. 

He left the sofa and plopped down in front of the Floo. His muscles were loosened, less tight; he felt like he could move just a little more freely. He threw in some powder, and green flames roared to life. He stuck his head into the flames and announced their Floo address. 

Hermione answered. “Harry!” she said, beaming but looking knackered. 

“Hi.” He gave her a wide grin. 

“Ronald, get over here! It’s Harry!”

Ron came charging from the kitchen, a tea cloth draped over a shoulder. “What is it? Is he injured again?” Ron spotted his head in the fireplace and visibly relaxed. 

“Nothing of the sort,” Harry said. “All limbs are still intact.” 

Ron sat down next to Hermione. “That’s brilliant, mate.”

“Um.” Harry took a deep breath, his face reddening. “So.”

“This is about Malfoy, isn’t it?” Hermione said. Ron looked at her sharply.

Harry’s mouth fell open. “What — how did you know?”

“You’ve been in love with him since you were eighteen years old. This was the first time you would see him since then. So — what happened?”

“I mentioned him _once_ , Hermione. It was a mistake to drink around you, I know that now.”

“It wasn’t just once. You talked about him every time you were drunk.” She looked impatient. 

Ron rested a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go a little easier on him, love. We aren’t in the Wizengamot.” 

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. She pinched her nose. “Sorry, Harry. I need a holiday.”

“It’s okay. How are the kids?”

“They are fine,” she growled. 

“Rose will be off to Hogwarts in a year. Hermione isn’t taking it so well,” Ron explained. 

“It’ll be okay,” Harry said. “You’ll see.”

“Yes,” she said curtly. “But we were talking about you.”

“I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to — you know.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself not to be embarrassed. “Malfoy and I have shagged twice now. Also, he pranced around starkers when I was first alone with him. He said he’s going to ruin me. I reckon he thinks he _is_ ruining me, but he isn’t — he’s blowing my mind, really.”

Ron’s mouth twisted. “The prat’s using sex to undermine your chances. He’s just trying to distract you, get under your skin. It’s the Dementor prank in year three all over again.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Hermione said slowly.

“What?” Harry said. 

She hesitated. “I never told you, Harry, because Malfoy specifically asked me not to, but a few years ago I was his solicitor in a libel case.” 

“WHAT?” Ron said. “You never said!”

“It was only for a week! I got the case settled in record time. He was my client — I wanted to respect his wishes!”

“What does this have to do with me?” Harry said.

She bit her lip. “I bring it up only because — well, he wouldn’t stop asking me questions about you, Harry! He was obviously interested, even then.”

“When was this?”

“About three years ago — when he first returned to England.” 

“So he asked about me. Big deal.”

She shook her head. “It was more than that, Harry. It was obvious he — he fancied you. That was right after you broke up with Smith, remember? He practically cross-examined me about you and him.”

“Did he say to you: ‘I fancy Potter.’ No? Then it doesn’t mean anything.” Harry said this even as his stomach fluttered. He was trying to protect his heart. 

“All right, Harry. Don’t believe me. But it was obvious he wanted you, even then.”

“Nothing’s obvious with him! All he does is play games — and taunt me.” He glanced around their cosy lounge, grumpy. It had been stupid to invite Malfoy to his room that night. Malfoy wouldn’t come. Of course he wouldn’t come. 

“Perhaps he’s hurt, Harry. Perhaps he’s scared.”

“I already know I hurt him! I already know that he’s scared!” Harry’s voice was raised like it was fifth year all over again. 

“Mate,” Ron said quietly. 

Harry took a deep breath. “Sorry. I don’t mean to shout.”

“You need to talk to him,” Hermione said.

“He doesn’t want to _talk_. All he wants to do is — well, you know.”

“Men,” she grumbled. Ron looked mildly intrigued. 

“I’m sure you can find a way to corner him, catch him off guard,” Ron said. 

“I don’t want to spook him. If I try to force some answers from him, he’ll run, I just know it.”

“If he runs, then it wasn’t meant to be. You can’t control what he does, Harry, and sooner rather than later, both of you will need to grow up and talk about what’s really going on,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, mate.” Ron rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “He’s not worth it if he can’t have a civilised, honest conversation with you. And this is coming from someone who really hates conversations like that.”

Hermione kissed him on his cheek and beamed at him. Harry ached inside. He wanted Malfoy to look at him like that. 

“Yes, you’re both right.” Harry sighed. “Malfoy isn’t worth it if he can’t tell me how he really feels. I need to find a way to get him to open up.”

“You shouldn’t shag him again,” Hermione said, tone now stern. “You should shag him only if he admits he’s been interested in you for years.”

“But we don’t know that, not for sure,” Harry said. Hermione sighed. “Thanks for the chat. I need to go now.”

“It was good to see you,” Ron said. “Take care of yourself.”

“Kiss Rose and Hugo for me,” Harry said. 

Hermione waved at him. “Tell us how it goes, will you?”

“Yeah. Goodbye.” Harry ended the Floo call. 

He sat back on his heels, his mind whirling. What should he be doing right now? Training. He should be putting everything he had into winning this spot. 

Suddenly, he felt angry. He didn’t know why, not really. He was angry at himself, angry at Malfoy. He was angry at all his stupid hopes, all his stupid fantasies. He needed to get a grip. 

Harry quickly got dressed in his Quidditch robes and prepared to march back down to the training facility. He had to work on his speed and his focussing abilities. Charlie was right — he had it in him to win this spot. He just needed to pull his head out of his arse. 

Before he left, he cast a detection spell that would alert him if Malfoy showed up. Malfoy never did.

*

The next morning, Harry woke up resolute. He was ready to put his all into the third trial. Charlie had done some investigating, and they were both sure the third trial was when the committee tested Harry and Malfoy face to face. As it turned out, Harry was not disappointed.

He and Malfoy flew about the simulated Quidditch pitch. The roar of the crowd was deafening. The sun was beating down on them; it was hot, tremendously hot, and the heatwave was scorching. The committee had set loose a single Snitch. The first Seeker to catch it won. Harry was _determined_ to win. 

Malfoy was utterly ignoring him, as if he hadn’t been inside Harry just yesterday. Harry was ignoring him too — or, at least, he was trying his hardest to do so. 

Harry had played countless matches. He’d won so many he’d forgotten his own stats. He knew how to do this, how to block everything out; he just needed to forget this was supposed to be the World Cup Finale. 

Harry zipped around the pitch, eyes narrowed, scanning quickly for a flutter of gold. Malfoy was just behind him, on his right. He had enough experience to instinctively know where the other Seeker was at all times. He had the feeling that Malfoy wasn’t ignoring him as much as he was pretending to; he knew Malfoy was following him, tracking him down. 

A Bludger whipped past Harry, almost colliding with his face. He jerked away, heart pounding. Fuck! It was always the Bludgers that got him. 

“That was a close one, Potter!” Malfoy yelled over the roar of the crowd. “Next time it will break your nose!”

Harry ignored him and sped away. It was fifteen minutes later when, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy dash for the Snitch. He spun around and raced after Malfoy. Sweat clung to his fringe, doing its best to seep past his goggles. The crowd saw Malfoy racing toward Snitch, too, and the noise level exploded. 

Somehow Harry caught up with him. They were now shoulder to shoulder, speeding straight toward the ground. Harry saw the Snitch, fluttering a metre beneath them. He rammed into Malfoy, trying to knock him off course. Malfoy yelled and rammed him right back. 

Shoulder screaming in pain, Harry held onto his broom, determined not to spin out of control. Malfoy jackknifed down, almost vertical. Harry saw his chance and took it; he torpedoed into the end of Malfoy’s broom, knocking both of them off course. It was a suicide mission, made out of pure desperation. Malfoy had been a second away from wrapping his hand around the Snitch. 

They plummeted through the air, headed straight for the ground. Harry yelled a wandless protection spell, hoping to slow down his speed. Malfoy called his broom back to him and landed on its shaft in a standing position. It reminded Harry of the move he made in the simulation machine at camp all those years ago. Malfoy also held the struggling Snitch in his hand. 

Malfoy hit the ground cheering. He raised his arms, his smile splitting his face. He looked at Harry, his eyes glittering with triumph, with challenge. 

Harry gave him a lopsided smile. He was happy for him, he really was. Gone was his anger and determination to beat Malfoy. It made him happy to see Malfoy happy. He supposed it would always be that way.

“I won, Potter,” Malfoy said, flaunting. 

“Congratulations,” Harry said. “You deserve it.” 

“Well done, gentlemen,” the head of the committee said. “You may leave now.”

The simulation ended, and he and Malfoy found themselves back in a dim empty room. The committee was hidden behind a wall, and Harry could hear them shuffling out.

“It’s over, Potter,” Malfoy said, closing the space between them. He was sweat-licked and pink; he was radiating power, excitement. “They saw me beat your ass. They know I’m better than you.”

“Yes,” Harry said softly.

Malfoy faltered. “What?”

“I intend to announce my concession tomorrow. And my retirement.”

Malfoy went pale with shock. “ _What_?”

Harry shrugged. He hadn’t planned any of it out, and Charlie was going to kill him, but he didn’t care. He knew it was what he had to do the moment he said it out loud. “I’m retiring, Malfoy. You will be the next Seeker to start for England.”

Malfoy grabbed him by the shoulders. He shook him a bit. “But — you _can’t_.”

“Why? Because it will overshadow your win over me? Because some people out there will say that you only got the spot because I dropped out? You can’t control what I do, Malfoy, and your success shouldn’t depend on what I do. I understand that now. I hope you can understand it, too.”

Malfoy dropped his hands. “I don’t care what you do. I never have.”

“We both know that’s a lie.” Harry picked up his broom. He prepared to leave but paused for a moment. He said over his shoulder, not looking at Malfoy, “If you have any feelings for me, any at all, then I hope you will come over to mine for dinner sometime. I still live at Grimmauld Place.”

“I know,” Malfoy said quietly. 

Harry left him in the dim empty room.

*

Two weeks passed. Harry’s retirement caused a media firestorm. Unsurprisingly, he was mainly left alone. Skeeter and all her reporter mates preferred to interview the likes of Trout and Flint and the one referee Harry punched during a match _nine years ago_. The rags even ran a few stories about how Harry retired because he was afraid to publicly lose to Malfoy. He was sure Malfoy’s entourage was behind that one; it had Parkinson’s red-tipped prints all over it. 

Harry was the happiest he’d been since — well, since forever. Malfoy didn’t show up at Grimmauld Place, and Harry told himself it was okay. He would get over it. Obviously they weren’t meant to be together or any other silly nonsense. Obviously there was just too much baggage between them; and anyway, it wasn’t as if Harry _knew_ Malfoy. He didn’t. He was just obsessed with him, and those things were quite different. 

It was a dreary night. Rain beat against Grimmauld’s old windows, demanding to be let in. Harry listened to the wireless and drank a big cup of tea. He was hungry but the leftover takeaway in his magical fridge wasn’t interesting him. 

Ron, Hermione, and the children were on holiday. They had joined Charlie in Romania to finally meet the dragons. When Harry broke the news to Charlie that he was retiring immediately, Charlie had packed up his things and headed straight for Romania that same day. The rumour was the Cannons were in negotiations with Locke Higgins about becoming their next head coach. Harry didn’t think there was anyone better for the job. He knew Charlie felt the same way.

Thunder clapped outside, close, causing the walls to shudder. Harry gulped down the last of his tea. He stared into his crackling fire, lost in thought. He wanted to start a foundation, something that helped out the poor, maybe even partner with a few orphanages. Harry knew what it was like to be poor. He knew what it was like to be an orphan. He had so much damn money now. He had to start putting it to proper use. 

There was a knock on his door. It was muffled by the thunder, and for a moment, Harry thought he’d imagined it. Then another knock came. 

_I bet you it's Skeeter_ , Harry thought, dread churning inside him. She had been threatening to pop by his home for ages, and he refused to strengthen his wards. He wasn’t going to be a prisoner in his own home. 

Harry opened the door. “Oh,” he breathed. 

Malfoy held a couple paper bags. He was drenched from the rain. “Let me in, will you? I’m drowning out here.”

“Yes,” Harry said stiffly, and took a step back. Malfoy eased past him into the dark foyer. Harry closed the door.

They stood there in the dark together, two warm and solid forms. Harry heard Malfoy’s breathing. It shuddered a bit, like he was cold or afraid. Harry pressed him to the wall, crowding him. He put his hands on him, pawing at him, needing them to be closer. 

“You’re wet,” Harry said, even though it was obvious. 

Malfoy’s throat clicked on a gulp. “I got lost and I was … distracted.”

“You’re here,” Harry whispered, and put his mouth on Malfoy’s gorgeous neck. He remembered what Hermione had said, but he didn’t care anymore. Malfoy was _here_ , in his home. Harry wanted to devour him. 

“Wait,” Malfoy said. “You’re crushing the ingredients.”

“What?” Reluctantly, Harry pulled back. 

Malfoy gulped again. “I — well. I picked up a few things to make pizza. Homemade, you know. I’ve gotten quite good at it.”

“Oh, hell,” Harry said, and pulled Malfoy into his cozy lounge with the crackling fire. He turned off his wireless. Now he could see Malfoy properly, and Malfoy looked self-conscious. His hair was messy, his clothes still drenched. Holding the bags in one arm, he dragged a hand through his tousled blond locks, trying to smooth them down.

“The kitchen is downstairs,” Harry said, grasping his own hands. It took everything in him not to pounce on Malfoy. Malfoy saw something in Harry’s expression, and flushed. 

They stomped down the creaking steps to the kitchen. Harry lit an army of candles with his wand, most of them sconces on the stone walls. He spelled flame into the magical fireplace; he didn’t intend to use the cauldron but the fire was still nice. 

Malfoy set down the bags. He turned in place, inspecting the kitchen. “The combination is a bit strange,” he admitted. 

“I haven’t been too keen on making big changes to the place,” Harry said. “I liked the old cauldron, the old table, but I couldn’t live without a refrigerator or a hob.” 

“Trust me, I understand.” Malfoy started taking things out of the bags, his head down. He seemed to be struggling to look at Harry. “You don’t have a pizza stone by chance, do you?”

“Maybe.” Harry rummaged in his cupboards. He was sure Ron had given him one for Christmas ages ago. When he found it, he let out a happy whoop. Malfoy grinned at him.

Together they made the pizza dough. In a large bowl, they mixed salt and yeast, then added warm water from Malfoy’s wand. When the dough came together, Malfoy removed it from the bowl and began to knead it by hand. Harry made sure enough flour covered the surface of his counter. 

Harry liked watching Malfoy work. A bit of hair fell into his eyes, his sleeves rolled up. His hands were so damn sexy. “I like seeing you do things like a Muggle,” Harry said without thinking. 

“You should’ve seen me in America then,” Malfoy said, grunting a little as he worked the dough. “I did loads of Muggle things. It’s more fashionable over there.”

“Like what?” Harry said, trying to ignore his own disappointment.

“A lot of us on the Seance liked going river rafting,” Malfoy said. “We even went rafting down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. No magic. The sights were beautiful.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “I’ve never been to America.”

“No? Not even when you were with Puddlemere?”

“Surprising, isn’t it? As you know, the team’s got training facilities in America, but I refused to go. Trout wanted me to go — but I refused. I refused to do a lot of what he wanted of me.”

“I’ve heard some things,” Malfoy said quietly. 

“I’m sure you have. Our feud or whatever was pretty well known. I hated being on that team.”

“That’s what people say. They say you were miserable.” 

“I was.”

Malfoy dropped the ball of dough back into the bowl, now oiled. Harry covered it with a tea towel. Malfoy stared down at his flour-caked hands. “It’s ridiculous Trout held you to that contract for so long. He knew you’d only signed it to get me on the team.”

“He wanted me to suffer,” Harry said. “And anyway, I deserved most of it. I was stupid and — and I shouldn’t have meddled. I’m sorry.”

Malfoy waved his hand, still not looking at him. “Water under the bridge, Potter. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“No?” Harry drew closer, even though some strange emotion radiated from Malfoy. He put his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “Draco,” he said quietly.

Malfoy shuddered. He glanced at Harry, then quickly looked away. “I suppose it’s time for me to be honest.”

“Yes.”

“How about we make the sauce first?” He began opening the can of passata. 

Harry covered his hand with his own, stopping him. “Let’s talk now. The sauce can wait for a sec.”

Malfoy took a deep breath. He placed his hands on the counter, steadying himself.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Harry said softly. 

“You want the honest answer. Right. I can say it.” Malfoy took another deep breath; he almost sounded like he was trying not to sick up. “I can’t look at you because you scare the shit out of me.”

“I thought that was the case, but I don’t know why.” 

“ _Why_?” Malfoy laughed harshly. “Because I — I don’t like to not be in control.” Harry didn’t say anything, and Malfoy continued in a trembling voice. “For the longest time, I _needed_ to be in control of my emotions. It was how I survived. You make me lose control. You always have.”

“You make me lose control, too,” Harry said, smiling faintly.

“Yes, but it matters more to me. You are so open — so _you_.” Malfoy covered his face for a moment, his hands still sticky with dough and flour. “I still can’t believe you told me you loved me.”

“You remember that?”

Malfoy dropped his hands. His eyes were very bright as he looked at Harry. “Of course I remember it. I thought about it for _years_.”

“You were married.”

“Oh, bugger,” Malfoy said. “Let’s not talk about that disaster right now.”

“What? You were married. Obviously you were able to move on.”

“And you fucked Zacharias Smith!” Malfoy hissed.

Harry shrugged. “I’m sure we both fucked loads of people. That’s not why I’m asking about your marriage.”

“Miguel was special,” Malfoy said. “I shouldn’t have lost my mind that night and married him, but we were in Vegas and he wore spectacles and I was sure I loved him.”

“You have a thing for glasses?” Harry said, pushing up his own. 

“You know I do,” Malfoy growled.

“Miguel was quite fit. I can understand why you were in love with him.”

“He had these gorgeous green eyes. He reminded me of — well, you, I guess. That’s why I quickly got the marriage annulled. I realised I was too fucked up to be a proper husband to him. He deserved so much better.”

Harry was struggling to breathe. “What are you saying?” he whispered. 

“Merlin, fuck me. Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

“You must,” Harry whispered. 

Malfoy pinned him against the counter. He framed Harry’s face with his sticky hands. He stared into Harry’s eyes angrily. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.” Harry barely felt his lips move. His heart was racing. 

“You fuck me up, Potter. You always have.”

“More.”

Malfoy closed his eyes, breathing harshly. “You want me to say you’re the one? Fine. You’re the one.”

“You’re still hiding,” Harry whispered.

“I hate you, Potter.” Malfoy kissed him softly on the lips. “God, I _hate_ you.”

Harry pulled him closer. “Tell me.”

“I’ve wanted you since I was thirteen years old — probably longer, if I’d actually known what my feelings meant.” Malfoy’s voice broke. 

“Oh, Draco.” Harry kissed him desperately. Malfoy tasted like tears. “I’ve been in love with you since recruitment camp. I’m so sorry I mucked it all up.”

“I’m in love with you, too.” Malfoy sounded like he was hyperventilating. 

“Shh, love,” Harry said, smoothing his thumbs over Malfoy’s sharp cheekbones. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

Malfoy pulled away from him. He gasped for breath. He really was hyperventilating. Harry helped him into a chair. He poured him a glass of water. 

“Fuck,” Malfoy said, face red, tears escaping down his cheeks. He gulped his water. “Fuck.”

Harry turned his head away, wanting to give him some privacy. “I can go upstairs, give you a moment by yourself.”

“No, I’m okay,” Malfoy said quickly. He set his empty glass on the table. “Fuck,” he said, covering his face again. A good minute passed, and Harry waited patiently. When Malfoy looked up, he rubbed at his cheeks, his eyes. He laughed, self-conscious. “I probably look a mess.”

“You don’t,” Harry said, his heart swelling. “You look perfect.”

Still, Malfoy took out his wand and cast a few cosmetic spells on his face. The tears disappeared and his eyes lost their wet puffiness. His complexion cleared, turning back to milky white. Harry was sad to see the evidence of his emotion vanish. Malfoy even took a moment to style his hair, his wand moving about his head on its own. 

Harry scratched at his own cheeks. He could use a shave. His shirt still had a stain on it from lunch. “Want to cast any spells on me?”

“No,” Malfoy said softly. He put away his wand. He was able to look at Harry again. 

Harry took his hand. “Let’s get on making the rest of the pizza.”

The pizza was ready twenty minutes later. The mozzarella was bubbling when they pulled it out of the oven. Harry poured them some wine, and they ate at the ancient table, the room warm and cosy and intimate. 

“The basil is divine,” Malfoy said.

Harry laughed around his bite. “You like calling food divine. I remember that.”

“Well, it _is_ divine.” Malfoy grinned at him. There was a bit of sauce on Malfoy’s lip, and Harry brushed it off with his thumb. “Wait, we mustn’t waste any of it.” He captured Harry’s thumb between his lips, sucking. 

“Fuck.”

Malfoy released his thumb, and they kissed deeply. Malfoy tasted like basil and wine. He moaned softly. 

“Ready to go upstairs?” Harry asked roughly. He thought they had talked enough to merit some brilliant shagging. 

“I prepared before I came over.” Malfoy cast down his eyes demurely. 

Harry frowned. “Prepared for what?”

“For your enormous cock to bugger me.”

“Oh, Christ,” Harry said, catching his breath. This made Malfoy laugh. Malfoy looked so damn good when he laughed. His teeth were very white. Harry dragged him into another kiss, devouring his delicious mouth. 

Malfoy moaned needily. He clutched at Harry. “Please, Harry,” he whispered. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Right,” Harry said, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. “I will show you exactly what you’ve been missing.”

Harry guided him upstairs, away from his cosy kitchen and lounge. They paused at the Black Family Tapestry so Malfoy could identify himself. 

“Is your mum still in France?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said quietly. “She only visited America once to see me play.”

“She must not like travelling.”

“No.”

Harry read the hurt in Malfoy’s expression. “I’m sorry, Draco. That sounds a bit lonely.”

“It was at first, but I got on with most of the fellows on my team. Those years were fun.”

Harry watched him closely. “Did you miss England?”

“Yes and no. I missed Pansy and Greg.” Malfoy glanced at him. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Of course you missed me.” Malfoy pressed him to the wall and dropped to his knees. 

“Wait,” Harry said, urging him back to his feet. “I want to show you something.”

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “You have a secret shrine to me, don’t you? Collected all my merchandise from the Seance and Puddlemere. Masturbated to my bobbleheads, didn’t you?”

Harry choked on an inhale. “What, no. I don’t even know what a bobblehead is.”

“Sure you don’t.” Malfoy winked at him. 

“No, I don’t have a shrine to you.” He gulped. “But what I want to show you does involve wanking.”

Malfoy brightened. “Sounds _divine_. Lead on.”

“Right,” Harry said, doubting himself now. Maybe Malfoy would think he was weird for using his Pensieve to wank. 

Harry drew him into his cold bedroom. He lit the sconces on his walls. Thankfully he had cleaned up a bit that morning. Malfoy looked around, interested. 

“Your duvet is green,” he said, sounding delighted. 

“The sheets are silver, too.”

“Love it.” Malfoy approached his bed. He spotted the broom mounted on the wall above it. “That’s your old Firebolt Supreme.”

“The one I flew during recruitment camp,” Harry said. “It means a lot to me.”

“You displayed it right above your bed?” Malfoy raised his eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, why not?”

“Don’t tell me this is what you wank to.”

“Oh, no.” Harry went to his big ancient wardrobe and removed his Pensieve. He heard Malfoy’s sharp inhale.

“No,” Malfoy whispered.

Harry placed the Pensieve on his bedside table. His memories were still in there, moving like mercury, flickering like light. He scrutinized Malfoy. “I’ll put it away if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Malfoy’s face was pink. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

Harry approached him. He reached down to touch his cock through his trousers. Malfoy was already a little hard. “Do you want to watch us? I’ve done it a thousand times.”

“Which memory?” Malfoy breathed.

Harry kissed his neck, his hand now massaging Malfoy through his trousers. “You pick.”

“I want to watch the first time you fucked me.”

“All right,” Harry said, trying to sound casual. He dipped his wand in his Pensieve, stirring. He identified the memory he wanted and pulled it to the forefront. “Ready?”

Malfoy nodded. Together they dunked their heads beneath the surface, the Pensieve magically widening to accommodate them. 

They found themselves in the lounge in Malfoy’s old flat. Malfoy gasped softly. Their younger selves were talking near the front door. 

Malfoy laughed. “Merlin, I looked like such a pouf.”

“I think you looked gorgeous.”

“A gorgeous pouf.”

Younger Malfoy shoved younger Harry against the door, kissing him roughly. They watched themselves kiss desperately. Malfoy’s mouth hung open. 

Younger Malfoy dropped to his knees. He shoved down younger Harry’s trousers and pants. Then he was sucking him hungrily, angrily. Harry loved this moment.

“Merlin,” Malfoy stuttered. Harry stepped behind him. He touched him again through his clothes.

“Can I wank you while we watch?”

“Fuck yes.” Malfoy sounded desperate. Struggling to breathe, Harry got Malfoy’s trousers undone and slipped a hand into his underpants. He found Malfoy hard and throbbing. He stroked Malfoy as they watched younger Malfoy choke on younger Harry’s cock.

“You were so hot, so fucking hot,” Harry murmured in his ear, stroking, stroking.

Malfoy’s head dropped back on his shoulder. He groaned, his eyes still glued to what was happening near the door. “I remember thinking you had the best cock in the world.”

“The best?”

“Yes.”

The alarm went off in the kitchen then, startling all four of them. “I was such an idiot,” Malfoy said.

“I thought it was cute.”

“It wasn’t _cute_ ; it was pathetic.”

They followed their younger selves into the kitchen. It was smoky and smelled terribly of burnt pizza. They watched themselves flirting over the revealed pizza. Younger Harry wouldn’t stop smiling and younger Malfoy looked shy but happy. 

“I was so into you,” Malfoy said. “It’s a little pitiful.” 

“No, it’s not.” Harry pulled him closer. 

They followed their younger selves to Malfoy’s bedroom. “This room always smelled like mildew,” Malfoy said. 

“I didn’t notice,” Harry said, staring at them now on the bed. They were speaking to each other, and if Harry remembered correctly, Malfoy was telling him they couldn’t kiss on the mouth when Harry was fucking him. 

“I was afraid,” Malfoy explained. “Snogging you made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, and I was afraid the emotions would be too much when you were inside me.”

“You made me feel so much, too.” He licked his lips. 

“Oh, yes,” Malfoy said, mouth quirking as he watched their younger selves on the bed. “This is where you reveal your kneecap kink.”

Harry hummed as he sank down to kneel in front of Malfoy. He bit his leg playfully. “I still have that kink, you know.”

Malfoy dragged his eyes away from the bed to smile down at him. He carded his fingers through his hair. “You weirdo,” he said fondly. 

“I want you to watch us as I suck you off.” 

Moaning, Malfoy buried his hands in Harry’s hair. His gaze zeroed in on them on the bed again. Younger Malfoy was calling himself a lolly, and younger Harry was making loud slurping sounds. They were both moaning desperately.

 _Yes_ , Harry thought, and dragged down Malfoy’s trousers and pants. Malfoy was fully hard now and weeping. Groaning, Harry wrapped his mouth around him. Malfoy’s hands jerked in his hair.

Harry bobbed quickly, trying to catch up to his younger self’s pace. Malfoy jerked in his mouth, and both Malfoys shoved away at the same time. “You’re making me come too quickly,” Malfoy gasped. 

“All right.” Harry kissed his thighs instead, moving up to his warm, flat stomach. They were both trembling. His younger self was now fingering younger Malfoy, and the noise they both were making was too much.

“Merlin,” Malfoy whispered, gaze glued to the bed. Harry cradled his bollocks; he nipped his stomach and soothed the nip with his tongue. 

Then younger Harry was inside younger Malfoy, and Malfoy dragged Harry’s hand to his arsehole. “Fill me up now,” he commanded.

Harry slid two fingers into his ready role. Malfoy panted as he watched them on the bed, his hands like claws on Harry’s shoulders. 

“I was so scared I was hurting you,” Harry murmured, thrusting his fingers in and out.

“You _were_ hurting me. It was brilliant.”

Groaning, Harry thrust deeper, searching for Malfoy’s prostate. Malfoy cried out. He growled and forced Harry’s head back so he could glare down at him. “Don’t make me come too quickly, Potter. I’m warning you.”

Harry laughed, aroused. He brushed his prostate again. “And if I don’t heed your warning? What are you going to do to me?”

Growling again, Malfoy urged him to his feet. Harry tried to remain inside him but the angle was too awkward and his fingers slipped out.

Malfoy kissed him deeply, biting his tongue. Harry’s breath hiccuped. “Take me back,” Malfoy murmured. “I want you now.”

Harry waved his wand and ended the memory. A moment later, they were back in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Harry pushed Malfoy on his bed and crawled on top of him. 

“Now, Harry,” Malfoy said, tugging at his clothes. “I can’t wait any longer.” His voice broke. 

“Yes,” he responded, more than a little overwhelmed. He yanked off the rest of their clothes. Malfoy latched onto one of his lips, nibbling it. 

“You have so many more scars,” Malfoy murmured against his skin. 

Harry kissed him deeply. It did something to him to hear worry in Malfoy’s voice. He pushed Malfoy’s long legs up, widening his thighs with his own. Exposed like this, Malfoy was wet and pink. He rotated his finger around his hole, loving when he felt it squeeze needily.

“You don’t have the Dark Mark.” Harry saw his bare forearms.

“No, I don’t. Can you feel how hungry I am for you?” Malfoy wiggled a little, utterly unselfconscious. 

“Is it too early to tell you I love you?”

“Yes. But say it again.”

Harry kissed him tenderly and positioned his cock at his hole. As he slid inside, he whispered, “I love you, Draco.”

“Oh, fuck.” Malfoy bared his teeth. His breath escaped him in a rush. “Somehow I forgot.”

“Forgot what, love?” Harry paused to kiss him again.

“Merlin.”

Harry thrust all the way in, until he felt his bollocks rest against Malfoy’s arse. “Tell me.”

“I forgot how big you are,” he whispered.

Harry began to move. Malfoy’s mouth dropped open; his eyes rolled up. He looked utterly taken. “Tell me you’re mine,” Harry said.

“Fuck.”

He quickened his thrusts, staring at Malfoy’s face. “Tell me, Draco. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Malfoy whispered, his eyes fluttering. He clutched at Harry, pulling him even closer. His legs wrapped around his hips. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

“Oh, God.”

“Please, Harry. Fuck me. _Please._ ”

Harry buried his face in Malfoy’s neck and lost himself. He thrust quickly, sloppily. The smacking of their flesh was loud, rhythmic. He was grunting, and moaning loudly. The man beneath him was _his_. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered. He was going to ruin his hole, ruin _him_. He wanted to be Malfoy’s everything.

Malfoy wanked himself desperately, his knuckles colliding with Harry’s stomach. Harry struggled to look at him. He wanted to see him come, but his arse was so tight, so wet. It gripped him like a vice. It was difficult to focus on anything. 

“I’m coming,” Malfoy cried, his face red.

“Do it, Draco. I want to feel you come around my cock.” He stuttered these words, he couldn’t help it.

Malfoy stilled and erupted between them. Harry groaned deeply as Malfoy squeezed around him. He thrust and thrust, smearing semen between them, barely feeling anything other than his cock moving inside Malfoy’s body.

“Harry,” Malfoy whispered, once he caught his breath. He kissed his temple and held him closer. “You can do it, baby.”

Tears slipped down Harry’s cheeks. He had no idea he was crying, but he was and he couldn’t hide it. “I love you, Draco,” he whispered. “Please, I love you.”

“Shh,” Malfoy said, soothing. “I love you, too.”

He came from Malfoy’s words. He kissed Malfoy as he pumped his hips and emptied himself inside his body. He thrust and thrust, pushing his own semen out. They both groaned, still kissing, still clutching each other. 

“Draco,” Harry whispered, thrusting one last time. He collapsed against Malfoy, barely awake. He sighed deeply.

Malfoy kissed his temple again and brushed his sweaty fringe from his forehead. He petted him, caressed him, as Harry dozed. 

“I never did find out what was between you and Flint,” Harry said sleepily.

Malfoy’s hand continued to move. “What do you want to know?”

“Did he — _force_ you?” Harry’s eyes opened more.

“No … well, sort of. I sucked his cock once so he would take me with him to camp, but I never let him fuck me, even though he was desperate for it.” Malfoy laughed a little. “I made him suffer. It was glorious.”

Harry tried to remember. “Why did he let you join the camp? He seemed so against it, but then he relented.”

Malfoy sighed. “It was Charlie Weasley. He promised to take him to Romania, let him ride the dragons.”

“He really didn’t care about you, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.” Malfoy sighed again. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Harry played with a bit of his sparse chest hair. “I really am sorry, you know. You fled to America because of me. Did you ever get my owl, or did Parkinson burn it before you returned?”

“I got it,” Malfoy said. “I kept it, too. I even kept the _Taming Your Toaster_ book you got me.”

“You remember the title!” Harry laughed. 

“I didn’t _flee_ to America because of you,” Malfoy said, voice hardening a little. “Leaving was my choice, and it was the right one.”

“You broke records in America. Of course it was the right choice.” Harry hesitated. “Will you take me there sometime? I want to see the Grand Canyon.”

“Yes, Harry.” Malfoy pulled him closer. “We’ll go after I win the World Cup.”

Harry hesitated again. “Are you really okay that I retired when I did? If you aren’t, I want to talk about it now. I want to be with you, Draco, and I don’t want anything bad to remain between us.”

“Training is going brilliantly,” Malfoy said, smiling. “I won and you look loads happier.”

“You know, I’m thinking about starting a foundation that helps orphans.”

“I told you to do that a decade ago!”

Laughing, Harry kissed him again. They both smiled into the kiss. “I know,” Harry said.

*

**Epilogue**

“England has done it! They have won the Quidditch World Cup!”

“It feels like a miracle, Jordan. England hasn’t won in _decades_. I almost want to cry, to tell you the truth.”

“I want the listeners at home to know that tears are in my eyes,” Jordan said. “It truly is a miracle. And what a match! Malfoy almost didn’t catch the Snitch! He was hammered by Bludgers and Quaffles and even a few shoes! I tell you, those Slovenians are dirty cheaters.”

“Let’s not name call, Jordan. Remember: England won! But yes, the referee gave Slovenia too many chances. I hope Malfoy is okay. Speaking of which, where is he?”

“Give me a moment. I’ll see if our producers can locate him. Ah, yes. They say he is celebrating with his boyfriend, Harry Potter, in the family viewing box. There we go. They are now on the big screen. Listeners, if you can imagine — and I’m _sure_ you can — Malfoy is now snogging him.”

“That is quite the kiss!”

“Yes, it is. Listeners, I need to tell you that I’m single. If you are interested, I’ll be at the Fat Friar tonight—”

“All right, Jordan. Let’s keep it professional.”

“They look quite happy, don’t they? I recommend reading Rita Skeeter’s interview with them about their romance. _Delightful_ , I tell you.”

“I wish them all the best.”

“As do I. And here comes the Cup! It sure is a beauty!”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of HD Erised 2020; thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥


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